Deserving
by SilverLinedApathy
Summary: "I know I don't deserve her. She has feelings for James, and that's who I've become since moving here. If James is who she wants, James is who I'll continue to be. I've remade myself before, and I've been doing it again. This time, I think I might actually succeed." Set post WS through CW. BuckyxOC Contains mentions of violence, mental health, chronic pain, adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

Bright blue eyes, hardened from more horrors than any one man should have borne witness to, swept the street on autopilot. They searched for anything out of the ordinary, any worrisome people, anything stirring in the shadows. Although a vital task, he didn't need to narrow his focus on the search. He was used to being a ghost.

The lost soldier continued to walk down the dark street, his eyes searching, but his brain buzzing. It never stopped buzzing these days. He sometimes wondered if the organ was making up for decades of disuse and scrambling. Now he tried to keep his thoughts occupied with facts he had learned and memories that had come back to him.

Bucky Barnes. His name. March 10, 1917. His birthday. 107th. His regiment in the army which took him to the battlefields of World War II. The Howling Commandos. The group of fighters he then joined to take down the Nazi Science Division, HYDRA. The group led by Captain America, a man who he had known almost his whole life. MIA. His official listing after falling from a train traversing through high, snow covered mountains. He read all of this at a museum in Washington D.C.

He had three younger siblings. He was athletic and good in school. He befriended a scrawny kid named Steve who was genuinely kind and had an abundance of stubbornness which he used to adhere to a very strict set of morals. He went on a lot of dates, but never really entertained the notion of anything serious. Then his country went to war and he and Steve knew they would have to step up and fulfill their duty to their country. He trained the scrawny boy for a few weeks, trying to impart him with his boxing knowledge, before they went to the recruitment center together. He made it. Steve didn't. He trained hard and rose to the rank of Sergeant. And then he was on a boat, resigned to doing his duty and returning home, hopefully sooner rather than later. But he never did get to return. These are facts he remembered. They came back slowly, and continued to trickle their way back to his conscious memory.

It was less pleasant memories which came back in a rush. Being tied to a cold examination table and stuck with needles that injected fire in his veins. The feeling of lying in the freezing, wet snow as all of the warmth poured out of his body through his strangely number left arm. Excruciating pain in his temples and the sharp tug of muscles straining as his body convulsed. The weight of numerous weapons strapped to his body. The feeling of warm flesh in his cybernetic hand and the sensation of a heartbeat pounding then fluttering then stopping beneath his fingers. Dozens and dozens of blank eyes, the life having just been extinguished from them. These he experienced in his dreams.

He still had so many questions, and some of them were answered as the memories came back, but some were unanswerable. It was the threat of his dreams being washed in blood and these unanswerable questions that kept him awake most nights. He had spent those nights walking the streets of Bucharest, where he had decided to go into hiding. However, it was beginning to get colder as autumn had firmly settled in, and he knew that this would not be a distraction from his late night problems much longer.

His body tensed, his eyes and ears having caught on to an abnormality on this chilly night. There was a woman up ahead, which was odd in itself. This wasn't a very good neighborhood, and the only young women out on their own were looking for work. She didn't seem to fit that mold. Secondly, she wasn't dressed to be outside at all. She wore short cotton shorts and an oversized, ratty looking sweatshirt. The sound of sharp, panicked breathing met his ears. His flight instincts immediately tensed his body. When her head turned in his direction, he began to turn around and ready his body to bolt.

"Wait!" she called, the plea clear in her voice.

She spoke English; another red flag. He pretended not to hear and continued his calm walk back in the direction he came from. To his alarm, he heard her running toward him.

"Please!" she begged, switching to Romanian. Now that she was closer the distress in her voice was even harder to ignore. All sorts of scenarios began to run through his mind. Surely she was an undercover agent playing the part of an innocent civilian intending to catch him off guard and-

He stopped when she caught up to him, turning to look at her carefully. She had long, dark brown hair that was piled sloppily atop her head with several thick locks falling loose and frizzy. Her eyes were also brown, though they were ringed red as tears dripped from them. Her fair complexion was flushed red and her cheeks glistened with moisture.

"Please," she said again, eyes wide and desperate In perfect, though perhaps accented Romanian, she continued, "I am so sorry, but h-have you seen a cat?"

He didn't reply right away, still skeptical that this was all a ruse. Slowly, he shook his head in the negative. Her face immediately fell, and a small sob parted her lips. The heels of her hands rose to her eyes to stem the flood of tears, and his chest tightened. He was pretty sure this wasn't a ruse. There was no sign of anyone else nearby and someone looking to pick a fight with him wouldn't block their entire field of vision. He knew he should continue on his way, make a few circuits around the neighborhood, and then slip back to his apartment just in case, but part of him didn't want to leave this distraught woman by herself in the dark in this sort of neighborhood.

"Is anyone out here with you?" he asked, mindfully switching back to English.

Her head shot up, immediately alarmed. He couldn't blame her. He _was_ just wondering about her safety this late at night and dressed as she was. If an unsavory character didn't get to her, the cold certainly might. Slowly, her own flight instincts now visibly activated, she began to back away. Her voice quivered as she spoke, giving away her lie as she replied, "Y-yeah, my boyfriend is just down the way looking, but when I saw you, I ran ahead to see if you might have seen anything. But you haven't, so thanks. Have a good night."

She continued to back away and flinched when Bucky raised his gloved hands in defense. "I didn't ask so that I can attack you. I ask because this isn't a place for a lady to be walking around alone."

"I know that," she stated cautiously. "But I don't have a choice. My cat, he's missing. He got spooked and ran out of my apartment. He's old, has always been kept inside, and has been abandoned and sheltered on and off his whole life. I can't leave him to fend for himself out here."

The tears had returned and she tried to wipe them hastily. Something in her words struck a chord in him, and he found himself weighing his options. This woman was clearly not a government operative trying to take him in. He didn't like to fraternize with civilians; he didn't want anyone to remember his face. But this young woman was distraught and putting herself in danger, and maybe helping her could be a drop of atonement in his bucket of sins.

"I can help you look," he offered.

"What? You uh… you really don't have to," the young woman replied warily.

"It's fine. I'm really not going to hurt you. What does your cat look like?"

"He's orange and white," the woman supplied, a chip appearing in her guard of skepticism and leeriness. "He's quite big and really fluffy. He is wearing a red and black plaid bowtie."

"Are we far from your apartment? How long ago did he run?"

"My building is down there," she answered, pointing to a rundown four story brick structure. "He ran about ten minutes ago."

Bucky nodded and headed toward her building, intent on finding any clues that might indicate at least what direction to search in. She trailed behind him, the flip-flops on her feet smacking against the sidewalk as she hurried to keep pace with his longer, hastier stride. He reminded himself to slow down to a more normal walk; she was wary of him enough and he didn't want to arouse any suspicion in her. The first rule of being on the run was to walk, after all.

He meticulously searched the area around the apartment building until his keen eyes spotted a tuft of white hair stuck on a broken piece of a chain-link fence. He turned back to the young woman and indicated the hole in the fence. "Looks like he went through there. C'mon, I'll give you a boost."

Brown eyes looked at him nervously for a moment before hardening with resolve. Wordlessly, she pressed the toe of her flimsy footwear into the fence and hoisted herself up and over the top, landing with only a small stumble on the other side. Bucky blinked his surprise, but then brushed if off. He wanted to find the cat and get the heck out of there.

Once again focused, the former assassin heaved himself over the fence as well, landing much more gracefully and silently than his companion had. She said nothing, and probably didn't even notice the practiced movements of his body as he did so. Again, she fell into step behind him as he began looking around once more. A few minutes later, he spotted a decent sized paw print in a patch of slightly frosted over moss. It wasn't too much longer before his trained hearing picked up on the rustling of leaves and traced the sound to a sparse bush. Nestled within the shedding branches and shaking with fear was an orange and white cat.

"Aslan!" the young woman gasped, rushing to kneel in front of the shrubbery. The cat rushed from its hiding spot and into her waiting arms. She scooped up the fluffy creature and Bucky noted with surprise that she hadn't been kidding about it being a big cat. What the hell kind of cat got that big?

Tears were falling again as she nuzzled her face into the cat's abundantly furry neck, and Bucky took that as his cue to leave. She wasn't all that far from her home and had no reason not to return to the safety of it, so his duty had been fulfilled. Silently, he disappeared into the shadows and hastened back toward home, determined to take a circuitous route just in case this had in fact all been a ruse and he was about to be tracked.

* * *

"My name is Bucky. I am healthy. I am hiding well. I am…" The dark haired man cut himself off with a growl of frustration. "This is fucking stupid."

The former assassin had taken to reading a lot during the days. He didn't much enjoy going outside during peak foot traffic times, and so he hid away with books he would check out from the local library. A lot of them were history books. He wanted to find out what had happened since his near death and capture at the beginning of 1945. As he read, more memories came back. It was unsettling the number of events he had played a hand in from behind the scenes. He then began branching out into self-help and psychology texts. While interesting, he was having a difficult time implementing any of the suggested coping skills. Speaking affirmations to himself in the mirror felt disingenuous and sort of crazy. There weren't many honest affirmations to give oneself when one spent the last seventy years murdering people in cold blood.

He tried meditating, but quickly stopped that when rushes of bloody images flooded his relaxed mind. He tried breathing exercises and yoga, but it wasn't very effective given that he didn't know what he was supposed to do and was entirely unwilling to attend a class. Bucky had also tried television to numb his mind while also keeping it occupied, but then his body became too restless. Reading was much more effective. There was something about his hands being weighted down and tasked with the simple, consistent motion of turning pages as his mind was kept busy that settled him quite well.

The only other thing that helped him keep a hold on his sanity was actually the only helpful tip from all of the psychology books. He had become an avid journal keeper. He had several filled up with the things he remembered and was continually adding to them, keeping the documentation of what he knew of himself and his past up to date. He wasn't sure what the future held. What he did know is that he never wanted to forget again.

* * *

Bucky nodded once toward the slight, older man stationed at the front desk at the library. The librarian nodded back with a smile. This was their routine every Monday and Thursday. As soon as the library opened, Bucky was there. He milled around for five minutes, deciding which section to peruse, then spent another fifteen making his selections. Within a half hour, he was standing at the desk making small talk with the librarian as his check-outs were processed. Other than early morning passes through the street market and his nighttime walks, this was the only time he really went outside.

"Right on schedule," the old librarian said with a grin. "Son, you're a mite predictable."

Bucky gave a weak chuckle, but said nothing. He silently willed the man to move faster so he could retreat back to his apartment and hide away for the day.

The librarian continued, "I hope you're always in a rush here because you're out doing some exciting things during the day, son. Now's your time to live. You can read all day once you get to be my age, hm?"

Bucky forced a smile, but had a feeling it came out more like a grimace. Knowing that he was actually older than this man, he replied, "Thanks for the advice."

As the soldier-turned-assassin hurried home, keeping his head down as the streets began to fill with the day's crowds, he was disappointed to find that he was actually ruminating on the librarian's words. He didn't take the comments about living before hitting old age to heart so much as he began to wonder how he could possibly live this way for the rest of his life. Despite being ninety-seven, it didn't seem like his end was nigh. Maybe he should try to live a bit more and hide a bit less.

_What am I thinking?_

He entered his apartment, a small, dilapidated studio. After setting some cheap, too-bitter coffee to brew, he sat down at the peninsula separating the tiny kitchen from the living space with one of his newly acquired library books.

_Then again…_

First off, he needed money. He'd been hiding out for a few months and was scraping by off minor theft. He never took more than he needed, but he didn't like that he was taking in the first place. And he really couldn't imagine living cooped up in a shitty apartment reading library books for the rest of his life. The memories were going to keep trickling in, but the questions they couldn't answer – Who is he now? What next? What did he want? – would never be answered the way he was going. Maybe he should try living a little. And if it didn't work, he'd run again.

He poured his coffee, wishing he had sugar, and resolved to try to get out more. But first, he would come up with several escape plans. With that decided, he pushed back his other worries and misgivings and began to read.

* * *

The best thing about hiding less was that the odd jobs Bucky picked up – all under the table, physical labor positions – engaged his body. Nothing was ever incredibly strenuous for the enhanced man and the people who hired him were always pleased with how quickly he produced their desired outcomes, but it was enough that his insomnia was somewhat assuaged. He didn't miss restless nights wandering outside or laying on his bed staring at the ceiling. However, now there was even more time for his subconscious to unearth gruesome images.

_ Bullets zinged by, but there wasn't an ounce of fear in his system. His boots trekked through a sea of blood. Hearing an enemy approach on the right, he lifted his MK .48 and fired. He didn't need to look down the barrel to know he would hit his mark. The weapon was an extension of his arm. His eyes remained locked on his target, a young blonde woman huddling behind an overturned desk. The bullets continued to fly from both sides. Tiring of the unnecessary chaos, he unlatched two grenades from his utility belt, activated them, and tossed them over his shoulder. The explosion and wave of intense heat against his back didn't faze him. He hurled himself over the desk, landing in a crouch before his target. Tears poured from her eyes and mucus streamed from her nose. She was both shaking and frozen with fear._

_ Without blinking, the Winter Soldier rested the end of his .22 magnum between her eyes. Her lips opened to beg that he change his mind, but he didn't wait to listen. They all said the same things and it never worked. He had his orders. He would follow them. Always._

_ His finger squeezed the trigger. Hot, scarlet liquid splattered across his face and chest. The scent of iron filled his nose. Still, nothing fazed him. He straightened himself, rising to his feet. Blank eyes gazed back at the destruction that was formerly a library. Broken, burning bodies, pools of crimson blood, glassy eyes staring at him. Silently, the Winter Soldier disappeared into the night like the ghost he was rumored to be._

Bucky Barnes shot up with a start. His hair was stuck to his face and neck, his limbs tangled in a mess of sweaty sheets. He laid back down, chest heaving as he fought for air. Almost immediately, he rolled to his side and vomited. His throat stung, and his eyes burned with tears. Dry heaves continued to wrack his body until he flopped back onto the mattress, exhausted. He had a distinct feeling that no matter how much he tried to live, there may not be much of a life left for a ghost.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I've been working on this fic for about a year now. It is completely written and edited, so all that really needs to be done is some formatting and uploading, which I hope to do with more regularity than I have with past stories. Content warnings for this fic include: violence, mental health, chronic pain, and adult situations. If you feel able to handle such topics, I would be very grateful for your continued support of this story.

Also, insert requisite "I own nothing" disclaimer here.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky let a sigh of relief out through his nose. He had found a little café that was a little off the beaten path, which was still ideal for the former assassin who was trying to rejoin society. They sold good coffee and while there were always other patrons there, it never felt overwhelming. He had taken to reading his library books in a corner booth there instead of in his dingy apartment at least a couple days a week. So far, nobody had visibly recognized him, and there hadn't been any signs that anyone was tailing him or otherwise out to confront him.

Bright blue eyes looked up when the front door to the café opened, letting in a short burst of chilly autumn air. His breath caught in his chest. Striding toward the front counter looking frazzled, though considerably more put together than when he had met her, was the young woman who had lost her cat. Although he was sure she wasn't an undercover operative assigned to take him out, he wasn't sure if he had deemed it safe to develop any sort of rapport with anyone. Hell, he didn't know if he even deserved to develop rapport with anyone.

He lifted his book and tried to look immersed in it, hoping that the woman wouldn't notice or recognize him. As usual, it seemed luck wasn't on his side.

"Oh! It's you!"

The young woman side-stepped the counter and approached his table. He gave her a weak smile that he hoped would suffice as a social interaction, and pretended to turn back to his book. In actuality, he was looking the young woman over, surprised at how different she looked than during their previous encounter. Her long, espresso colored hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders and her face was much prettier now that it wasn't tear-soaked. She wore an olive colored blouse beneath a fitted black blazer, black dress pants, and black ankle boots that had just a bit of a chunky heal. Clutched in her hand was a large laptop bag and pinned to it was what looked like a badge of some sort.

"You disappeared the other night," she accused.

"Sorry," he replied feebly.

"You'll just have to let me thank you now, and with interest," she asserted. Then, more shyly, she added, "Unless you're in a hurry to get somewhere?"

Bucky was sorely tempted to lie and say that he was indeed in a hurry, but given that he was reading in a café in the middle of the day, he was sure that a refusal would come off as rude. Instead, he tried, "You really don't need to thank me."

"Of course I do! You're a total stranger and really stepped up to help me. Please, what're you drinking? I'll grab you one as a thank you."

Bucky chuckled uncomfortably and said, "I appreciate the offer, but that would be a lot of caffeine for one afternoon."

The woman looked crestfallen for a moment, and Bucky felt something stirring inside of him. He had a feeling that the pre-experimentation-Bucky was loathe to upset a pretty young woman. But what about present day Bucky?

"Well, how about a raincheck?" she asked, nervousness seeping into her voice again.

Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing to have a local acquaintance. Maybe it was more suspicious to be the creepy 30 year old loner slinking around the streets at night and camping out in a café during the day. He realized when her face fell into disappointment and she opened her mouth the brush off what she was sure was a rejection that he was taking too long to answer. Quickly, he replied, "Sure. A raincheck would be fine. Although you still really don't owe me anything."

"Okay, great. Today is… Tuesday?" At his nod, she continued, "Okay, do you mind meeting me here Friday at 4? I'll be off work then."

"Sure," he nodded, mentally adding, _Not like I have a busy schedule to work around._

"Great," she said, sounding relieved. Hastily, she rummaged in the front pocket of her laptop bag and pulled out a small card and a pen. She scribbled on it for a moment and then handed it to him. "I have to run, but I'll look forward to repaying you then. My name is Harper, by the way."

Another jolt of panic hit him. Although he was trying to figure out who "Bucky" was, it was a pretty damn recognizable nickname. Even if she didn't recognize it, what if it got around to someone who did? Knowing he needed to give her an answer, he blurted, "James."

"Nice to meet you, James. See you Friday," she said with a smile before turning and hastening out of the café.

_Dammit!_ Why had he given her a name he was pretty sure he had never liked? Now in a mood, he looked down at the card in his hand. In small, slightly messy script, Harper had written: Friday, 10/12/2014, 4pm - Cafea Minunată. He flipped the thick piece of paper over and realized it was her business card. Harper Montgomery, LSW. It seemed like she worked for some sort of family services agency? Looks like he would be camping out at the library doing some research on the internet over the next couple days.

* * *

"LSW," Bucky muttered under his breath. "Licensed social worker…"

It was Friday morning, and the number of times the former assassin had debated not showing up at the café to meet Harper was borderline shameful. From what he had read online, she was probably a truly, genuinely good person. It seemed like social workers were chronically underpaid and overworked, and that they dealt hands-on with some really serious, sad things. From the little he had seen of her, she seemed to fit the stereotype. If she was receiving any semblance of a livable wage, she wouldn't be living in such a dangerous neighborhood. Plus, when she walked into the café on Tuesday, she was clearly frazzled and rushed. She had dedicated her life to helping others despite the personal cost. What right did he have to connect with her on any level as someone who had spent the last 70 years killing people?

_You need a cover,_ he reminded himself. _And you're never going to pass as socially acceptable if you don't learn how to act normal again. She's just a tool. A way to increase safety out here, and a way to figure out who the hell I am now._

But even that left him feeling nauseous. He didn't want to think of anyone else as a tool. He had been reduced to a tool. Who was he to do that to someone else?

He suddenly wished he was meeting her at a bar.

* * *

Blue eyes darted nervously up at the clock. 4:08. How long did he wait? Did Harper come to her senses and decide to ditch the creepy loner?

The thought had barely registered when the door to the café opened and the young woman stepped through it. Today, she was decked out in black. She wore a plain, loose fitting black dress that fell a few inches above her knee, opaque black tights, and the same black ankle boots. She also wore a lightweight black coat. Her dark hair was straight and shone even in the dull artificial light of the café. Her cinnamon colored eyes roamed the area before falling on him in his usual back corner booth. As she approached, he suddenly felt terribly unattractive with his scruffy facial hair, beat up hat, and windbreaker. His left hand, encased in a glove, was hidden in his lap under the table.

_It doesn't matter what you look like,_ he berated himself. _You're not trying to woo her; you don't do that anymore… Right?_

"Hey!" she greeted cheerfully, setting her laptop bag in the booth across from him. "I am so sorry I'm late. I had a little bit of an issue to deal with at my last appointment today."

"Sorry to hear that," Bucky replied earnestly.

Harper waved it off, saying, "Typical Friday. Anyway, what can I get you?"

"You really don't-"

"Shush with the chivalry. What do you want?"

Bucky was a little taken aback. He didn't remember women being quite so… strong-willed? Vocal? The tiny piece of him that was Old Bucky was protesting in the back of his mind, but honestly he couldn't quite find it in him to assert himself as a gentleman. Instead, he gave in and said, "It doesn't matter. You can choose."

"It's not really a token of gratitude if it isn't something you want," Harper frowned. "What do you like?"

"I'm not really sure," he answered, brows knitting.

Harper pressed, "Well, what do you usually get?"

"Black coffee."

"Because you like it?"

"More like… I know what it tastes like."

The young woman hummed thoughtfully. "Well, what's something you're curious about trying?"

Bucky was thoughtful for a long moment. "I guess… I always look at the maple brew?"

"Alright, be right back," she promised, heading toward the front counter. Bucky watched her engage with the barista, both young women friendly and familiar with each other. The dark haired woman waited a few minutes before accepting two mugs, and then headed back for his table. Setting the taller of the two in front of him, she stated, "Better to try something new on someone else's dime. Or at least, that's how I like to do it."

"Thank you," he replied. "You really didn't have to."

"I'm happy to. This is nothing compared to having Aslan back home with me, and that was all you."

Bucky looked away uncomfortably before asking, "So you come here often?" She smirked at the cliché and he quickly added, "It just seems like you knew the woman who works here."

"I am a frequent flier here. Sometimes I like to work away from my office – well, more specifically my phone – and this place is usually pretty quiet. Plus, it's near enough to a bunch of my clients, so it's a convenient place to stop between appointments," she answered. After taking a sip of her drink, which smelled a lot like plain black tea, she asked, "Did you just start coming here? Otherwise, I would've expected to run into you at some point."

"Yeah," he nodded. Evasively, he continued, "I'm fairly new to this area, and it took me a while to find this place. I like it, though."

Harper nodded a couple of times. Bucky took a sip of his coffee as a way of occupying both his hand and his mouth, and was pleasantly surprised at the sweet taste that washed over his tongue.

"What's the verdict?" Harper asked.

"Definitely better than black coffee," he replied.

"Would you have it again?"

"Yeah, I think so," he nodded slowly.

A smile turned the corners of her lips. Fingers circling the rim of her own cup, she asked, "So I've been wondering; how were you able to find Aslan so easily? Are you a hunter or something?"

Bucky froze and his jaw clenched. Her cinnamon colored eyes looked at him innocently, and there was no trace of any ulterior motives on her face. She hadn't raised any red flags, but he still needed to be cautious. Pondering how to answer her question, he thought bitterly that in the crudest sense, that was an apt description of his former lifestyle. He nodded once and met her gaze as he answered, "Yeah, but I don't do that anymore."

Unfazed by the weight of his declaration, she replied, "I figured you must've been a hunter or military or something with those tracking skills. Oh, unless you are military?"

Bucky cursed the instinctual tensing of his body and that she had noticed it. Again, he admitted honestly, "I was in the army. I don't like to talk about it."

"Understandable," she nodded. "Anyway, where are you from? Your English is perfect and unaccented."

"Brooklyn, New York," he answered. "Yours is the same. Where are you from?"

"Ah, natural born enemies," she grinned playfully. "I'm from Boston."

At that, Bucky couldn't help but return her smile with a smirk of his own. "Enemies indeed. You guys just suck at baseball and have always blamed it on us."

"Your guy cursed us!" she protested immediately. "Luckily we reversed that shit."

Bucky snorted into his coffee, amused and surprised by her use of the expletive. Trying to keep the attention off of his life and his awkwardness, he asked, "So what's your job like? I saw on your card that you're a social worker?"

Harper hummed her affirmation over the edge of her cup. Placing it back down, she said, "Yeah, I am. I work with family services, but we're not just those people that take away kids. My agency works with families with kids and with aging adults. I work mostly with the latter, but I do have some young clients, too. With the kids, we try and help support the families to take care of them and to ensure their safety and normal development. There's a lot of poverty here, so that's a big hurdle. Then with the older adults, we make sure that their needs are being met and that their medical care is being sufficiently coordinated. Sometimes that means putting in support services, sometimes, it can be educating families on dementia, and so on."

"Wow, sounds like really important work," said Bucky, trying to hide his immediate desire to learn more.

"It is," Harper agreed. "Social workers get a bad rep as the people who take away kids, but that's seriously not our go-to. Does it happen? Yes. Do we sometimes have to remove older adults, too? Yes. But we only do it when their wellbeing can't be ensured any other way. The system is broken, but we have to work within it. Am I talking too much? I feel like I am; this isn't really interesting, listening to me bemoan the negative conceptions of-"

"No, it is," Bucky assured, interrupting her. "I'm totally unfamiliar with this sort of thing, so it's interesting to hear you talk about it."

Harper laughed lightly and said, "Well, promise to tell me to shut up once you're sick of hearing about it. Because I could really go on and on, and I have some weird stories. I have this one client, an older war vet, who insists on showing me all of the shrapnel the doctors pulled out of his leg in World War II. I just saw him a couple weeks ago, and he has the shakes, and out of the box came all of the pieces, right into my lap."

Bucky chuckled at her enthusiasm and said, "That's unpleasant."

"Unpleasant? Just a little! Unless you're into touching metal bits that were pulled outta people."

"I can't say I am."

"So what are you into? I noticed you were reading here the other day."

Mildly displeased that the focus was back on him, Bucky answered, "Mostly history, but I like psychology, too."

"What branches of psychology?" she asked excitedly. "That was one of my majors."

"Umm... trauma, I guess."

Brown eyes roamed his face for a moment, as if trying to figure something out. Her face brightened again, and she said, "My focus was clinical, and I took an entire course on trauma. I have a book I think you'd like. I'll have to start carrying it around in case we run into each other again."

* * *

Bucky lay awake, staring unseeingly at his water-stained ceiling. Getting coffee with Harper was actually pretty enjoyable. Maybe he had been a little starved for human interaction, but he also found that she was really a pretty agreeable, interesting person. They hadn't talked about too many personal details, which was a relief. He preferred to talk about her work and books. Plus, he had found her really easy to interact with. She hadn't been pushy, other than about buying him a drink of his choosing. She has also left no doubt that she was willing to see him again, but also left things open enough that he never actually had to. She hadn't pressed for a phone number, or another coffee date.

_Date? Was it a date?_ he found himself wondering. _No, it wasn't a date. Nothing about that was like a date. It was coffee between acquaintances. _

Feeling stupid, he shook his head. Now the next problem was whether or not he would begin avoiding the café and, subsequently, Harper. He knew she lived a few blocks from him, so he could avoid her home easily. And it wouldn't be difficult to avoid the café where she admitted to frequenting during the day. He could go early in the morning, or stop going all together. Somewhere else surely had maple coffee.

Then again, hadn't he agreed to meet with her as a means of establishing a better cover? As much as he tried to avoid civilians becoming familiar with him, there was no way to completely avoid that. He needed food from the market, and the vendors quickly came to know all of their regulars. And the library had been an invaluable resource to him on his quest to fill in the massive gaps in his memory and his knowledge, but it was small and was only tended by a single librarian. The barista at the café had surely come to recognize him. Having someone who appeared to be a friend would really fill out his profile as a normal civilian.

_Maybe she could actually be a real friend._

Bucky shook off the thought. You couldn't have a real friendship with someone who didn't know the real you. Besides, his hands were far too bloody to deserve a friendship with someone like her.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the attention this story received after only its first chapter. I appreciate your continued interest and support.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky had to admit, Harper had been right about the book she lent him. It was a book about trauma, but went further than a lot of texts by also discussing the physiological and sociocultural effects of various types of trauma. Plus, he had a feeling that the author's experience with the VA and wartime trauma had been a contributing factor to her lending him the book. It was such a compelling read that he finished it in only a couple days, and would've been done sooner if he hadn't found work at the local shipping center. He found himself at the library looking for similar tomes and, when his search wasn't very successful, allowed himself to hope that he'd run into Harper again.

It took a week, but finally it happened. He walked into the café one afternoon after his shift and was pleasantly surprised to see the young woman seated in his usual booth. Her laptop was open in front of her and she was typing away furiously. For a moment, Bucky wasn't sure he should interrupt her, but the promise of more books was too enticing. He ordered a maple coffee and a black tea before heading her way.

"Uh… hey," he greeted awkwardly, then hastily added, "Sorry!"

Harper had jumped at his sudden intrusion, head snapping up to look at him. Looking relieved when she saw it was him, she said, "Oh, hey, James! Sorry, I'm jumpy by nature."

"Mind if I join you?"

"As long as you don't mind my poor company. I have three reports closing today, and two pretty arduous home visits. Well, one visit left now, but I still have those three reports."

"Sorry, I don't want to bother you," Bucky replied quickly, already moving to stand up.

"No, no, no," she shook her head emphatically. "You're not bothering me. I'm just not going to be a great conversationalist. But if you're here to read or something, please feel free to do so."

His fingers drummed nervously on the bindings of the books he was carrying. "You sure?"

"Of course," she nodded.

"Um… since we're both here, I do want to return this to you."

Cinnamon eyes looked up from her laptop and fell on the book she had lent him. She accepted it, slipping it into her bag and asking, "What did you think?"

"I really liked it," he replied. "I tried to find more of his work at the library, but no such luck. It was really interesting, his take on trauma. And it was fascinating to read about his thoughts on the prescribing habits of the VA."

"I had a hunch you might like it. I've actually had another book you may like, it just took a while to run into you again. Here," she said, pulling another book from her bag. "This one is similar, in that she has taken the stance that all trauma, public and individual, needs to be engaged with at a sociocultural level. This one is more about domestic traumas, but it does deal with combat trauma and terrorism, too."

"Thank you," he said earnestly, quickly accepting the offered book.

"Anytime. What other topics interest you? And how cynical can I get with my recommendations?"

"Cynical is good. It tends towards honesty."

Harper grinned widely. "A man after my own heart. That gives me ideas on what to lend you next."

"I look forward to it," he grinned. Suddenly remembering, he added, "I also got you some black tea. I hope this is what you usually drink?"

He pushed the cup toward her, and she looked down, surprised. Slowly, she nodded. "Yeah, it is. Thank you."

Uncomfortable with her gratitude, he opened one of the books he'd gotten from the library and buried his nose in it. Thanks only to his well-trained ears, the former assassin heard her chuckle under her breath before the clacking of her laptop keys filled the space between them, punctuated by occasional pauses to sip her tea.

* * *

Bucky and Harper fell into a comfortable routine. They met at the café every Wednesday mid to late morning, oftentimes staying through lunch and until Harper had to go to an appointment. If she got there first, he would arrive to find a hot mug of maple brew on the table, and he always had black tea waiting for her if he arrived first. They would talk briefly about the things Bucky had liked and disliked about his latest loaned book, and then he'd accept the next. Harper would work away until lunch, when she would stop for an hour and they would chat more normally.

She often spoke of work, which was fine. He found himself admiring the young woman more and more for the kinds of things she dealt with. A woman whose grandson struck her multiple times with a television remote and who had threatened to abandon her to a hospital if she didn't give him money. An older man with a TBI whose home had to be outfitted with alarms that would alert emergency services when he left the home because his cognition and mood were so poor he was a danger to himself and others. A man who had smoked so heavily his whole life that his circulatory system was shot and he was losing his limbs one at a time. A child whose mother had died in childbirth who was living with his drug dealing father. He had a distinct feeling that she needed to get some of these stories off her chest, and he couldn't blame her.

"So then he asks me to bring him to the bank," Harper continues, waving her pastry for emphasis. "And I tell him I can't, that's outside the purview of my position, but it was nice meeting him and I offered him a handshake. And then he starts talking to me about how much he likes old American Westerns, and how all of the real cowboys historically used to shake hands as a sign that they weren't going to shoot each other."

Bucky tensed at the turn her story had taken. He frowned and stated, "He threatened you."

"Yeah, that's how I took it," she nodded.

"And you have to go back there?"

Harper blinked at him like it was obvious and said, "Well, yeah, in a few months."

"You shouldn't have to put yourself in danger to help someone like that," Bucky scowled.

To his surprise, Harper laughed lightly. "James, I go to my fair share of dangerous places with some fairly threatening people. Many folks don't take kindly to some lady from the government coming into their homes to make sure they're doing right by their parent or their kids."

Now that he didn't like. He had only known Harper for about six weeks, but she had already proven herself to be a compassionate, selfless person. Why did someone as good as her have to be put in danger? He remembered, too, the area she was living in. He insisted, "Still, you shouldn't have to deal with that."

"Trust me, I'd love to drop all the assholes off my caseload, but that's not right. Just 'cause life hit you and you turned into an asshole doesn't make you ineligible for someone to care about you, to help you."

Bucky tried to ignore how uncomfortably close to home her words hit, and continued, "Okay, but that still worries me."

"Thanks," she smiled softly, catching him off guard. "I appreciate your concern. Seriously, I do."

"Why do you do this? Why do you stay at a job that could be dangerous, which only affords you a home in an apartment building that doesn't guarantee your safety?"

Harper sighed, dropping her pastry to her plate. Her eyes fell to the tabletop, and a frown marred her features. Suddenly, she looked older, more fatigued. "Well, life wasn't supposed to turn out this way."

It was easily the darkest sentiment she had shared with him. He had thought her a young, exceptionally bright woman who was headstrong enough to take the shit her job handed her and conquer it. But now, he wasn't so sure that wasn't just a carefully constructed veneer.

As soon as that glimpse beyond her usual front emerged, it disappeared as Harper began asking him about what kind of book he wanted to borrow next.

* * *

_ He moved silently through the shadows, eyes and ears alert for any sign of a guard. The mansion he found himself in was richly decorated, but he didn't take note of his surroundings other than to watch for security cameras and to map out escape points. He ducked beneath a large window, lest the moonlight streaming through the glass cast a shadow that could be picked up on a security feed. This is how he continued down the long, silent corridor. _

_ Finally, he stopped before a double set of doors. He knew from studying the blueprints of the house that this was the bedroom of his target. Silently, he pushed down the door handle and slipped inside the room. Blue eyes roamed the bedroom, ascertaining an escape plan before he moved to the massive, canopied bed. His cybernetic arm pulled back the semi-opaque curtain, revealing a woman sleeping on her stomach. Dark hair spilled over the pillows._

_ Without hesitation, the Winter Soldier positioned his Uzi just over the back of her head, silencer already firmly attached to the barrel. His finger squeezed the trigger. Blood and gelatinous matter sprayed across the assassin and the canopy behind him. He reached out with his prosthetic hand, intent on verifying that his target had been eliminated. With a tug, he rolled the corpse onto its back. His breath caught. Staring back at him were light brown, almost reddish eyes. Blood and brain matter stained her espresso hair and the pillow beneath her head as the wound leaked._

Bucky didn't even have time to bolt upright before the bile burning its way up his throat forced him onto his side. He had taken to sleeping with a bucket nearby, but he didn't have time for that either. His stomach emptied itself and then some, as hot, bitter tears streamed from his eyes and mucus from his nose. Everything in his nightmare had been from an old memory, except for the identity of his victim. Why his subconscious had cast Harper in the role, he did not know. Maybe it was because he couldn't quite shake his suspicion of her, or his wariness about connecting with another person. What he did know was that absolutely no harm would befall her by his hand.

* * *

"What're you doing for Christmas?"

Bucky looked up from his book, surprised by Harper's question. He hadn't given the holiday any thought, but he supposed that it was just a few weeks away. Decorations had started appearing around the city, but he had barely spared them a glance. His life had become a slightly busier form of routine. Library, market, shipping center, coffee with Harper. "Nothing, really. What about you? Will you be going home to spend the holiday with your family?"

"Nah, can't afford to," she sighed. Brighter, she asked, "Since you're not tied down to any plans yet, you'd be more than welcome to join Aslan and I for Christmas dinner."

Bucky hesitated, and Harper picked up on his unease almost instantly. She looked crestfallen for a moment before quickly rearranging her expression to an understanding smile. "But I can totally get making other arrangements. It is Christmas, after all. You totally don't need to feel pressured to spend it with the crazy cat lady who blabs too much about her shitty job and her books."

"It's not that at all," Bucky corrected her. "I just feel like that would be intruding."

"It's not an intrusion if I invite you!" Harper insisted. Looking more serious, she added, "Anyway, it's really more about my selfishness. I've admittedly been pushing my friendship on you in part because even a scummy New Yorker is a breath of fresh air so far away from home."

He saw past the barb at his hometown and was touched by the sentiment. "We're friends?"

Her cheeks flushed prettily and she snapped, "Well, I hope so, or else these coffee-books-and-work dates are something pretty creepy."

Bucky laughed lightly and said, "You have a point. I guess I was just surprised that a smart, pretty Bostonian would consider a creepy old guy from Brooklyn a friend."

Harper scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Setting aside the gratuitous flattery, shove off. You're not that much older than me, unless you have aged miraculously well."

_You don't know the half of it_, Bucky thought. Aloud, he asked, "How old are you, anyway?"

"Twenty-five," she replied. "You can't be that much older than me, so fess up."

_Biologically? To the best of my knowledge? _"Thirty."

"See? That's hardly any difference at all. Especially when you factor in how slow men mature," she replied with a wicked grin.

"Oh, okay, I see how it is," Bucky chuckled.

"You didn't deny it!"

"I won't grace such a childish sentiment with a response. As an adult, I know better," he jested, stuffing down the realization that he was actually seventy-two years her senior.

"Sure, sure," she rolled her eyes. "Anyway, I've noticed you still haven't accepted or denied my invitation. I can assure you, the food will be palatable and there will be wine. Or beer, or whatever you're into."

Suddenly, the idea of spending his first Christmas with any sort of memory or agency alone felt like an awful prospect. However, spending a night with this kind woman who considered him – well, more accurately, James – a friend seemed much more enjoyable.

"Is your cat friendly?" he asked finally.

"He's super friendly, and barely a cat. He's like a fish-loving dog," Harper grinned widely. "So…?"

"Sure, I'm in. Let me know what I can bring."

"Just yourself," she assured cheerfully.

* * *

Bucky heaved a large, heavy crate from the dolly onto the conveyor belt, enjoying the pleasant strain on his muscles. Around him, other laborers did the same, often as team lifts. The other men were all discussing the upcoming holiday.

"The wife won't tell me what kinda gift she got me, so I have no idea what to get her. Don't want to under-shop; that's an immediate argument and night on the sofa. But I can't overdo it either, because then I'm in the doghouse for being irresponsible with money."

"Hey, I'm just hoping the kids aren't disappointed. It's a tight year this year."

"What about you, Albu?"

"Just spending the day with Ioana," the young man replied with a waggle of his brows.

The older men snorted lasciviously. "So porking your girlfriend all day?"

"Maybe."

Bucky didn't much care for the other men's banter, and wasn't happy when the conversation expanded to include him. "What're you doing for Christmas, foreigner?"

"Dinner with a friend," he answered shortly, heaving another crate up on the belt.

"What kinda friend? The kind ya pork?"

"No, she's just a friend," he snapped, unhappy that Harper would be discussed in such a lecherous way.

"Man, women are never just friends. If she wants to spend Christmas with you, she's hoping for some holiday dick."

Bucky rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the lousy advice from the other laborers. It worked until one asked, "What're you getting her?"

"What?"

"It's Christmas, man. Whether she wants your dick or not – which she does – you can't show up to a lady's house empty-handed."

"But she told me to."

"Women always say no when they mean yes, say they're fine when they're pissed, and say they want nothing when they expect something."

Instead of pointing out the fallacies in the other man's statement, Bucky fell silent. Maybe he _should_ get Harper something…

* * *

Bucky had spent way too long at the market. It was getting crowded, and he was getting anxious. He had been pacing back and forth, desperately trying to come up with something to bring to Harper's for Christmas. He didn't think he'd ever been friends with a pretty dame before, and had quickly realized he didn't know how to handle such a situation.

The former assassin had spent a considerable amount of time thinking about flowers, but she wasn't a dame he was trying to woo. Flowers seemed a bit much, and he didn't want her to think he was some weirdo who wanted to… _pork her_. She had been perfectly kind and friendly, and not a bit flirtatious, which he was honestly thankful for. He wasn't going to repay her kindness with anything but the same.

Chocolates or other candy were passed on for the same reason. She said she would have wine, and he didn't know what sort of wine to get her anyway. Not for lack of trying; Bucky had become quickly overwhelmed with the selection. So what on earth was he to do?

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the follows and favorites as well as for the continued support. I appreciate all of the readers who are already coming along for the ride!


	4. Chapter 4

"Hi, Harper. It's uh… it's James," Bucky spoke into the intercom beside the locked door of the apartment building.

"Come on up!" Harper's voice answered back a moment later. "Third floor, back left corner."

There was whirring and then a loud, metallic clank which signaled the door had been temporarily unlocked. Bucky let himself in, eyes sweeping around to take in the state of the building. It was as dilapidated on the inside as it was on the outside. He found his way to the stairs and began the climb to the third floor. Once on the correct landing, he began working his way down the hall. As he went, he thought he could smell cocaine and he was positive he heard the distinct sounds of working girls making their living. His heart sank; Harper shouldn't have to live in a place like this.

Finding himself in front of apartment 317, he raised a hand and knocked on the door. From inside, there was a shuffling sound, and an exasperated "C'mon, get your furry ass outta the way!" before the door swung open. Harper stood there in a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a black long sleeve cold shoulder top. Silver chandelier earrings were just visible beneath her dark hair and Bucky had to smile at the dark blue, cat patterned socks on her feet.

"Merry Christmas!" she greeted cheerfully. "Come on in! You remember Aslan?"

Bucky nodded, looking down at the rather large orange and white cat with some trepidation. The cat approached him curiously, sniffing at his feet and shins. Bucky began to toe off his work boots, sending the cat running behind Harper's legs. Not that he was small enough to find sufficient cover there.

"Oh, Aslan, come on," the young woman scolded without any real harshness in her voice. She bent down and scooped him up, allowing him to rest draped over her shoulder. She explained, "He likes baby burping position best, and is a bit wary of human men. But I'm sure he'll warm up to you quickly!"

"I gotta ask," he said, still eying the cat. "What kind of cat gets that big?"

"He's a Maine Coon," Harper supplied. "A solid 22 pounder. I jokingly call him my guard cat, since he's bigger than some dogs. Not an ounce of bravery in him, though."

"And you… enjoy having such a big cat?"

"Well, he eats a lot, which sucks financially. But yeah, other than that I love having a big fluffy boy here with me. Maine Coons are super affectionate, so he's sort of like a fish-loving, cuddly teddy bear. You can touch him, as long as you let him smell your hand first," she said, turning so that the cat and Bucky were now facing each other. Bucky reached out with his ungloved hand, cautiously offering his fingers to the creature's nose. He sniffed for several moments before looking up at him with huge green eyes. Bucky took this as acceptance of him and slowly reached out to scratch its head. Immediately he understood what Harper meant. This cat _was_ incredibly soft.

"How old is he?"

"He's an old man," Harper answered, looking at the cat fondly. "Nearly 16. That's just about 80 in cat years."

"Wow, so you've been together a long time," Bucky inferred.

Harper shook her head. "Only two years, actually. I adopted him a few months after I moved here."

"You adopted such an old cat?" he asked, surprised. "I imagine people usually go for the kittens; less wrong with them at that point."

"There's nothing wrong with Aslan," Harper defended immediately. Her fingers began running through the fur on his back. "He's lived a long, difficult life. Everyone deserves happiness during our limited time to live, and I'm grateful to have been able to give that to him."

Bucky just stared at her, surprised by the sentiment. Harper set the cat on the floor, and he began weaving figure 8's between her legs. The young social worker continued, "He's been in and out of shelters his whole life. Nobody's wanted him for very long. He's so sweet and loyal, and I can't imagine why anyone would willingly give him up. But they did, over and over, and now he has some pretty righteous attachment issues, but I can't blame him. That's just who he is now, and I love him anyway."

Bucky's chest tightened, touched that the young woman in front of him could feel that way. Most people wouldn't share her view of the situation. If she hadn't come along, the cat dutifully rubbing against her legs might have met a premature death, euthanized by a shelter that was too crowded to leave space for an old cat with emotional issues.

"Anyway, enough about my craziness for Aslan. I doubt you want to spend Christmas talking about that. Are you thirsty? I have wine and beer in the fridge, or water if that's more your thing."

"Beer is fine," Bucky answered absently, still marveling over what Harper had said. "That's really kind, the way you feel about your cat."

Harper strode over to the kitchen, Bucky at her heels, as she said, "Hey, I figured most all of us are a little fucked up. Age has no bearing on that. Our past shouldn't bar us from happiness and comfort."

"Even if someone did some really horrendous stuff?" Bucky couldn't help himself but ask.

"What, like rape or murder?" Harper asked, handing him a cold bottle of beer. "Even people like that have a right to be comfortable and happy, with the understanding that the definition of happiness changes depending on where one is in life. So, say for someone in jail for life for murdering his wife, happiness might be getting to spend an hour outside, or laundry privileges so he can freely roam around with the laundry cart. For Aslan, happiness is eating salmon from a can and having a warm body to sleep next to at night."

"So you really think that someone who has… that a murderer still has the right to be relatively happy and comfortable?" Bucky asked again, dark brows reaching for his hairline.

Harper looked at him uncomfortably, turning to reach into an upper cabinet to extract a wine glass. "Oh boy, you think I'm naïve or something. Hear me out. We're all just flawed humans muddling our way through existence. Such imperfect creatures shouldn't be given the power and authority to make another miserable. Life is so incredibly valuable; so long as someone is living it, nobody else should be able to infringe on that. I don't think that we can place a value on each individual life, that any life could be so valueless that someone shouldn't have their basic human needs met. Make sense?"

Bucky was silent for a long moment. Harper waited patiently, twisting a corkscrew into the top of a bottle of white wine. Finally, he asked, "Are you a pacifist?"

Harper laughed, caught off guard by his question. "Yeah, I am. Sorry, Mr. Soldier."

"I've definitely traversed much closer to the pacifist end of the spectrum over the years." The dark haired man offered his hand to her, but Harper waved him off, continuing to tug at the corkscrew. He continued, "I don't think you're naïve. I think it makes sense given what I know about you."

"Oh?" Harper raised a brow and flashed him a playful smirk. With a pop, she finally worked the cork from the neck of the bottle. "And what do you know about me, James?"

"I meant that it's clear how much you care about people. Your job as social worker, the fact that every book you've lent me has revolved around the recovery of hurt people, for starters."

"Sure, sure," Harper chuckled. She leaned her hip against the counter, took a sip of wine, and then gave him a conspiratorial look from over the rim of the glass. "But here's the secret: I really don't like people at all. I just feel for ones that hurt. But as a species, humans are kinda shit. Selfish, destructive, arrogant."

"But still deserving of happiness?"

"'Deserve' is an interesting word," she mused, taking a long sip from her glass. There was something in the way she was suddenly looking at him that had Bucky panicking. Harper may have been considerably more insightful than he gave her credit for. Perhaps she sensed his discomfort because she broke the tension with a light laugh. "But this isn't Christmas talk, and I didn't invite you over to talk about the dark side of life. Is the beer okay? I wasn't sure what you drank."

"Yeah, it's good," he nodded, thankful for the change in topic. "Local brew?"

"That's what I was told," Harper shrugged. "I don't know jack about beer, but figured supporting local is always good."

* * *

As it turned out, Harper's talents extended to the kitchen. Bucky was surprised at the spread before him. A roasted chicken, sautéed green beans with onions and bacon, roasted Brussel sprouts with garlic and parmesan cheese, mashed potatoes, chicken gravy, and what looked a whole lot like homemade cranberry sauce.

"Wow," he muttered, mouth already watering at the array of food in front of him. His last good, home-cooked meal was before he was deployed in 1942. Seventy-six years was a long time to go without food like this. "You didn't have to do all this, Harper."

"I enjoy hosting, and since I moved here, I haven't really been able to exercise my hostess gene."

"Still, this is a lot of food," he muttered apologetically. Something felt lousy, knowing that the overworked, underpaid young woman had put the time, effort, and money into having him over for the holiday.

Harper shrugged it off easily, saying, "I wanted to be sure there would be enough. You _are_ a big dude after all." The playfulness in her voice only took the edge off his guilt. "And anyway, I'd have done a lot more to ensure I didn't have to spend Christmas alone, thinking about all of the fun my family is having together back home."

"You miss them," he stated the obvious.

The brunette hummed her affirmation. She began slicing away at the chicken, loading his plate up with juicy looking breast meat plus a leg. "I miss them a lot. A one year plan has become a who-knows-how-long-plan. I never intended to be this far away from home for so long." She plopped a sizeable scoop of potatoes on his plate next. "Anyone back in the States that you miss?"

Avoiding the incredibly complex question, Bucky said, "I don't really have any family. My… ties with other people have been pretty well severed."

Harper nodded, and asked, "Have you built any ties here, then?"

"I came here to reconnect with myself," he answered, relieved that he could be more truthful. He'd told enough lies to last him a few lifetimes. "Connections with other people didn't really seem to fit into that."

With vegetables and cranberry sauce rounding out the plate, Harper set the meal in front of him. She passed him the gravy boat, then went about filling her own plate. With a frown, she confessed, "I've found it difficult to make friends here."

"Really?"

"Well, I'm friendly with some of the women at work, but I've been here almost two years and you're my first dinner guest. I feel like I can't get past being that American woman who still can't speak fluent Romanian. I mean, I'm proficient enough to get by and to do my job, but when my coworkers start talking about more complex things, like the real, nitty-gritty conversations about life and the world and politics and society, I have to put in a lot of effort just to keep up, let alone express myself. It's hard to forge real friendships when you struggle to have real conversations."

"That's true," he nodded, spearing some chicken on his fork. He thanked his plethora of will power that he could refrain from loading the utensil to capacity. Delivering the food to his mouth, it was all he could do not to moan with pleasure. "This is really fucking good."

Harper laughed, and Bucky flushed immediately. Quickly, he amended, "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that in front of a lady. I meant-"

"What have I told you about cutting the chivalry bullshit?" Harper asked, grinning widely. "I ain't no fucking lady. That's an archaic concept, my friend."

"Either way, it's delicious," Bucky said, face still warm with embarrassment.

"I'm glad," she said.

Suddenly, there was a loud meow and two big paws were clinging to his thigh. He looked down, noting that the large cat had hopped up into prime begging position.

"Aslan!" Harper scolded exasperatedly. To Bucky, she said, "I'm sorry. You can push him down if he's bothering you. Otherwise, he does love chicken if you feel so inclined to share. No pressure, though."

Tentatively, he plucked a small piece of chicken from his plate and offered it to the large mammal. With a slight start, he dropped the piece as a set of sharp feline teeth shot out for the piece of meat. Harper laughed again, and Bucky couldn't even blame her. He'd have laughed too if a big former soldier was afraid of a damned cat if that big former soldier wasn't him.

"Not a cat person?" she guessed.

"I've always been fonder of dogs," he replied, eyeing the cat whose huge eyes were watching his every move in the hopes of getting more chicken.

"Me too," she said. "But I can't afford a dog, and I didn't want to have to go outside on walks several times a day every day in this neighborhood. I was lonely, though, and I found this poor guy in the shelter."

"It's good you adopted him," Bucky commented, now moving on to the potatoes.

"Thanks," she said. "He's been in and out of shelters several times over the course of his life. He needed a forever home, and I'm really grateful to be able to give him that."

"Why was he given up so many times?"

"I really don't know," Harper sighed sadly. "His most recent former owner became too ill to care for him, but other than that, there isn't much that's known about him. The only indicators of just how many times he's been sheltered is that he is absolutely petrified of confined spaces, probably from being kenneled at shelters, and he has pretty stellar attachment issues. It took months for him to get used to me leaving for work. Like crying as soon as I started putting on my shoes. He's better now, and doesn't cry anymore, but he still isn't much of a believer in my personal space."

Bucky looked down at the old cat with more sympathy than he really wanted to feel for it. Harper reached down over to his side of the small table, hand pressing against the cat's fluffy chest and gently pushing him off Bucky's knee. The cat walked away without a fuss, settling at her feet instead.

"I see what you mean," he said, offering her a small smile. He speared several green beans on his fork and asked, "Why an old cat? Because of his story?"

"No, I actually went to the shelter specifically for an older cat. Nobody wants older animals, and a lot end up euthanized for that reason. It makes my skin crawl. He's so incredibly sweet; he didn't deserve to be put down just because he's older. He's seen a lot of life, but he still has life he should be able to live."

"Are you an idealist?" Bucky found himself asking, moving on to the cranberry sauce.

Harper laughed. "No, definitely not. I see too much of the shitty side of life to be an idealist. But because of what I do, and other personal experiences, I've also developed a pretty strong value for life."

"It must be difficult working with people who are at the end of their lives."

"It's definitely different when most of your caseload could die at any time. And it is difficult losing clients to death rather than to noncompliance with their program, or moving away, or something."

Bucky took a long sip from his beer before moving on to the Brussel sprouts. He was pleasantly surprised to find that they weren't at all bitter. "I've never had Brussel sprouts that I liked before, but these are great."

"Thank you," Harper replied earnestly. "I had no idea what you might like, so I hope dinner is okay."

"Everything is amazing," he complimented, gesturing at his nearly empty plate.

"Please help yourself to more if you'd like," she grinned, obviously pleased with his praise. Seeing the hesitance on his face, she scooped some potatoes onto the serving spoon, and offered it to him. He reluctantly nodded, not for not wanting to eat more, but because he suddenly felt awkward again. "James, I really don't mind. Trust me; I'm having more green beans, so this is a judgement free zone."

"Alright," he chuckled, accepting the potatoes and reaching for the chicken.

"Did you enjoy Christmas growing up?" Harper asked.

"Yeah," Bucky replied easily. His memories from childhood he felt pretty certain about, and definitely more comfortable with than the majority of his adult memories. "I had three younger siblings, and watching them get excited about Santa was a lot of fun. We never had much, but our parents tried their best to make Christmas morning exciting. My mom cooked the best food, too, and baked gingerbread cookies. My sisters liked to decorate them, but my brother and I were always better at the eating part."

"Did you have a real Christmas tree, or a fake one?"

"Real," he answered. "What about you? What were your Christmases like?"

"Real when we were kids, but then my parents got a fake one. It was terribly disappointing," she laughed. "Christmas is, and has always been, my favorite time of year. I have two younger sisters, so I totally get what you mean about watching their excitement. My mom loved the decorating part of the holiday, so our house always became a winter wonderland. I have far too many boxes of my own Christmas décor in storage back home in the States."

Bucky glanced around the apartment for the first time, noticing only a few seasonal touches here and there. "It must be difficult not to have that this year."

"It is," she nodded, pushing the last of her cranberry sauce around on her plate. "It's not the materialism, either, by the way. The decorations genuinely make me happy from the perspective that they signify the time of year. Lining a mantle with nutcrackers in July makes you look like a crazy person, but putting them out at Christmas time while I listen to the music from The Nutcracker Ballet is fun and reminds me of my late grandfather who used to collect them. They bring back memories of really happy times."

"I get it," he nodded. "It's not about amassing stuff, but about surrounding yourself with visual representations of good memories."

"Exactly."

Now that he could understand. He wished he had any sort of access to things that would trigger his more pleasant memories. All he had were his journals. He cleared his throat and finished off his beer. The former soldier found himself struggling not to begin ruminating on his past. Harper, thankfully, seemed oblivious. She stood and retrieved her bottle of wine and another bottle of beer. She placed the bottle in front of him, simultaneously filling her glass up.

"D'you like wine at all?" she asked.

"I've never really…" he shrugged, twisting the top off the bottle, "Dabbled? I don't know."

"Want a glass?"

"Maybe next time?" he asked, enjoying the beer and not quite feeling brave enough to deviate.

"So there will be a next time?" she asked, smirking mischievously over the top of her glass.

His cheeks warmed again, and said, "Well, I didn't mean to assume or invite myself over again or anything."

"Well, I hope there will be a next time."

Bucky found himself honestly responding, "Me, too."

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for the reviews, favorites, and follows, as well as for the support of reading further into this story. The feedback is greatly appreciated. This story is complete and fully edited, so I think I may be able to continue with these consistent uploads. Fingers crossed!


	5. Chapter 5

"Dessert?" Harper offered, placing the last dish in her refrigerator. "Or would you rather wait a little bit?"

"Whatever you prefer," he replied noncommittally.

"Well, I've been looking forward to this, so…" She opened the fridge again and removed a delicious looking cake frosted with thick white frosting flecked with dark speckles. Bucky watched with anticipation as she cut into it, and hummed his approval when she pulled the first slice from the whole. Three layers of rich, dark chocolate cake separated by more of the thick frosting perched on her spatula. Bright blue eyes watched the cake slide perfectly onto a plate, and he was happy when the large slice was placed in front of him. Seeing his excitement, she smirked and said, "I thought you may have a sweet tooth?"

"Do I?" he asked absently, looking down at the confection before him with anticipation.

"I believe so," she laughed. "If your preference for maple coffee or the way you're looking at this cake like it's the center of your universe are anything to go by."

He looked up at her bashfully and admitted, "You may be right."

Harper cut herself a piece of cake as well, though notably smaller than the one he had been given. He took another sip of beer, waiting impatiently for her to cut into her piece so that he could eat without feeling rude. When she did, he turned his attention to his plate, watching his fork cut through the dark, moist cake. The flavors of rich chocolate and sweet buttercream exploded over his tongue.

_Holy shit_, he thought appreciatively. Aloud, he complimented, "You're as good a baker as you are a cook."

"Thank you," she smiled. Her light brown eyes moved downward and she leaned over, scooping up her huge cat and placing him in her lap. She slid another bite onto her fork and offered it to the orange animal. He sniffed it for a moment before recoiling. Harper hummed knowingly before placing the fork in her mouth. By way of explanation, she said, "He doesn't have a sweet tooth."

Bucky chuckled. Somehow, this young woman's interactions with her too large cat were incredibly charming.

* * *

Eventually, the unlikely pair moved to the living room, each taking an end of the simple dark grey couch. Conversation had moved to discussing the book Bucky had most recently been lent. He enjoyed talking books with her; she was refreshingly bright and analytical. They talked points of interest, about the actual writing, and criticism of some of the conclusions drawn. It was a fun, interesting exchange.

It also served as a reminder. "I actually brought it back."

He reached for his coat, which Harper had draped over the back of the armchair in the living room. From the inner pocket he extracted the volume and handed it back to her. He watched as her light brown eyes immediately found the additional item tucked beneath the cover.

Nervously, he explained, "It's not much, but it is Christmas, and you can consider it a thank you for having me."

Harper slid the bookmark from the book, turning the item over in her hands. It was a thin silver rod, the top of which was hooked like a cane. From the end of the curve dangled a small cat charm. She looked up at him with a large grin turning her lips. "It's so pretty! Thank you so much, James!"

"It really doesn't compare to dinner and everything, but…" he muttered, cheeks flushing with his discomfort again. "Also, I recently got a new cellphone. I wasn't sure if it'd be easier to coordinate getting coffee that way…?"

"I really love this," she assured, carefully replacing the bookmark in the book. "And I would love to exchange numbers. Hang on, I'll grab my phone."

She disappeared into the kitchen, returning with another full glass of wine and her phone. "D'you text, or…?"

"Yeah," he nodded, though more truthfully he just knew he had the capability and was going to need to learn how to do it in practice.

She offered him her phone, already open to create a new contact and with his name typed in. He added his phone number, ignoring the option to type in any sort of last name, and then handed it back to her. She said nothing, and typed for a few moments. A moment later, the new phone in his pocket vibrated. By way of explanation, she said, "I texted you so you have my number, too."

"Thank you," he nodded, glad that she hadn't said anything about his intentionally refraining from giving her more information about himself.

The rest of the night passed quickly. Once he had drained his fourth beer and Harper's bottle of wine sat empty on the coffee table, Bucky decided he should take his leave.

"Well, I should get going. It's pretty late, and I've more than taken advantage of your hospitality," he said, standing from his seat.

"You okay to get home?" Harper asked, standing as well with slight stumble from the wine.

Bucky's lips twitched upward at her concern. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"Okay, hang on a second."

Bucky watched as Harper disappeared into the kitchen. He shrugged, pulling on his boots. He had just shrugged into his jacket when the young woman reappeared, two large Tupperware containers in her hands. Something tightened in his chest, and Bucky had to resist the urge to rub uncomfortably at his sternum.

"Leftovers and some cake," she explained, extending the containers toward him.

"You really don't-"

"Merry Christmas, James," she cut him off firmly.

With another small smile, he replied, "Merry Christmas, Harper."

* * *

Bucky felt like he was a teenager again. He wouldn't – well, more accurately, couldn't – fall back asleep after the latest gruesome murder bathed his mind in crimson. Instead, he lay staring up at the ceiling and wondering for the hundredth time where to draw the line in his friendship with Harper. At first, he found her company agreeable enough that he was willing to use her as a cover, a way to not come off as the creepy foreigner. The problem was he had actually come to like her.

This posed two key problems. Firstly, now that he was Bucky rather than the Winter Soldier, he didn't like lying to his friend, especially one as kind and selfless as Harper. Were they even really friends if he was lying to her? Because he _was_ lying to her by withholding his true identity and everything that came with it. How close could he get to her, knowing all the while he was betraying her trust?

But the times he spent with Harper were the times he felt the most normal. Or at least he felt the least like a brainwashed-assassin-turned-fugitive struggling to unscramble his brain. The first few months he was on the run, Bucky was completely alone. He couldn't trust himself, couldn't trust his broken memories or his fragile mind. There was no way he could put his trust in anyone else. The isolation was at first a relief. He remembered being social, especially with women, but decided that trait had changed over the many decades of his life. The former assassin fell into a boring, lonely routine. It was comfortable. Now he had spent the last two months with Harper as a friend. The definition of "comfortable" had expanded to include sitting across the table from her in a café, he sipping coffee and reading his latest book, and she typing away at her computer and letting her quickly forgotten tea get cold. Spending Christmas with her had been comfortable. Exchanging occasional texts with her, a skill he was proudly mastering, had become comfortable. He never wanted to go back to being the Winter Soldier, and he didn't know who Bucky was anymore, but maybe with Harper he could be James. And maybe that was okay.

* * *

The quiet calm of the library in the morning provided a special sort of comfort. Bucky's fingertips glided absently across the spines of the shelved tomes, eyes moving lazily over dull colors and peeling titles. Unfortunately for him, the local library was small. As such, he had read through the vast majority of its books on trauma, psychosis, self-help, and global history. He wasn't sure what else he was interested in. What had he enjoyed before the war?

The answer was uncomfortably unclear, so Bucky decided that he should move on to getting caught up on movies. He had liked going to the theatre with Steve or with a date. The movies and cartoons had been good. Things could have only improved, right?

The former soldier ambled over to the movie section and was still impressed as ever that entire films could be contained in such small packages. The previous tenant of his battered studio apartment had left behind a bulky television set that appeared to have a DVD player built into it. He wasn't sure how to use that feature, or if it even worked, but he'd never find out if he didn't try.

Blue eyes began skimming new titles. It seemed modern civilization loved war and violence. He had seen more than enough of that. He was intrigued, though, about a war series that seemed to take place in outer space. Space had been a distant dream when he had enlisted, and it had been interesting to think about what was out there waiting to be discovered. He plucked the first so called "Star Wars" film from the shelf. A couple of older looking films captured his attention. He added "The Wizard of Oz" and "To Kill a Mockingbird" and "12 Angry Men" to his hand. In the section of supposedly popular picks, he took the first "Harry Potter" film as well. These, in addition to the latest book on lend from the library of Harper, would have to be sufficient for now.

* * *

James: Please explain to me why a movie about a lost girl with magic shoes and her ragtag, useless friends adventuring around facing witches and flying monkeys is still popular today, when there are movies about three brave kids using magic to protect people even when nobody believes that there is a threat. The latter undoubtedly trumps the former.

Harper: Are you watching Harry Potter without me?!

James: Was I not supposed to?

Harper: No!

James: My apologies. I only watched the first one. Should I include you when I watch the next ones?

Harper: Obviously! To your earlier point, I have no idea. I honestly hate the Wizard of Oz. I know a lot of scholars think it was all a metaphor for political and economic issues at the time the book was written, but fuck the flying monkeys. That shit was scary as a kid.

James: Noted. Harper and flying monkeys do not mix.

Harper: More importantly, Harry Potter marathon this weekend?

James: I have to work early both days, but my afternoons and evenings are free.

Harper: That's fine by me. My place or yours?

James: If you don't mind, I can come to you. Then you won't have to worry about walking home in the dark.

Harper: That's fine. Aslan is taking a liking to you.

James: Is he? The puncture wounds in my knee beg to differ.

Harper: He jumped up to greet you, ya baby.

James: Your Crookshanks of a cat has it out for me, and you know it.

Harper: Aslan is nothing like Crookshanks! If you read the books, you'd know that.

James: There are books?

Harper: Oh, my poor Muggle-born friend. Come over on Saturday and this witch will give you a brief introduction to the History of Magic, and maybe even put you through a Sorting Ceremony.

James: Oh? I figured you'd be more of a Potions Master.

Harper: I am pretty good in Potions, but where I really excel is Charms. ;)

James: Very humble.

Harper: Ten points from whatever the hell House you are.

* * *

"You still working at the shipping center?" asked Harper, watching him switch out the DVDs from over the rim of her fourth glass of wine.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I think once the weather is warmer I'll try and see if I can get some work at the docks. It sucks being indoors all morning."

"They pay extra in the winter down there, if that matters to you."

"More money would be nice, but I'm not really a fan of the cold."

"Poor New Yorker can't take the winter chill?" she teased.

Bucky smiled wryly and returned to his seat on the other end of the couch. "Not so much."

To his relief, Harper let the topic go. Instead, she scooted in with an admonishing look and said, "Ya know, it's basically a mortal sin to be watching the movies before you read the books."

"We can take a break after this one," he offered. "I'll read in the meantime."

"Are you a robot?" Bucky's cybernetic hand clenched automatically. Harper continued, "It seems like you must never sleep! It took me years to get through my library and you'll have read all my books in under a year at this rate."

"I sleep," he defended mildly. "Just not well. The books help, though."

"Well, shit," she smirked. "No pressure at all on the library of Harper."

Bucky scoffed as she playfully bumped his shoulder with hers. "You have an extensive collection of interesting reads."

"Eventually you'll have read through all the scholarly stuff and all that will be left is all the trashy porn novels," Harper mused.

Bucky blanched, his face heating up spectacularly. Harper burst into hearty laughter, her hand slapping down on his knee. He realized then that she was teasing, adding to his embarrassment. He also realized he hadn't experienced sustained, friendly human contact in decades and her hand was still on his knee. The former assassin wasn't sure what to make of that. Blue eyes watched the dark haired woman, noting a tear roll down her cheek as she struggled to quiet her laughter and regulate her breath.

With her laughter stopped but a huge grin still in place, Harper apologized, "I'm sorry, James, but oh my gosh your face! Priceless! Don't worry, I don't have a stash of porn; I get it online like everyone else." She snorted a laugh again, and continued, "But seriously, I'll endeavor to keep supplying reasonably decent books, now for a multitude of reasons. Starting with you leaving with the rest of the Harry Potter books today so we can continue the marathon next weekend. If you're free."

Bucky chuckled lightly at the quick amendment. "Yeah, I should be free. Not much of a social life, remember?"

"Right there with ya."

The movie started then, the previews having played during their conversation, and Harper fell silent. It was then Bucky realized that she hadn't moved back to her original seat on the other end of the couch. She now sat next to him on the middle seat. There was no more physical contact, but the closeness was new and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He reminded himself that a man and a dame could be just friends and that he wasn't looking or ready for more anyway. And she really did just seem to have gotten comfortable in that spot. There didn't appear to be any other motives in play. Maybe it wasn't so bad either, to experience being so close to another person and not having to be on edge.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the views, follows, favorites, and reviews. I'm grateful for all of the support. I'd love feedback, particularly on my portrayal of Bucky and the pacing thus far, as I've never written him before and always seem to struggle with pacing. Any and all support is still absolutely appreciated, though.


	6. Chapter 6

Harper: Not feeling well and heading home early. Sorry I won't make it for coffee.

James: No need to apologize. I hope you feel better.

Harper: Thanks

Bucky frowned. Harper must really not be feeling well; she was usually a pretty cheerful texter. Since his afternoon was now unfortunately free, the former soldier decided he would try heading to the market at a busier time of day in his bid to handle crowds better.

* * *

James: Are you feeling up to continuing the marathon? I read the fourth and fifth books this week and can at least watch that far.

Harper: Sorry, but I'm not feeling up to company.

James: Sorry to hear you're still not feeling well. Is there anything you need?

Harper: No, but thank you for the offer!

That, at least, was a tad more like the usual Harper. Bucky wondered what was ailing the young woman. He also wondered if he should ask. But it was winter, and he reasoned that it was probably just a cold. She'd hopefully be back on her feet by the time their next coffee date rolled around.

* * *

Harper: Hey, I have to bail again today.

James: Still not feeling well?

Harper: Decidedly not. I'll let you know when I'm better.

James: Let me know if you need anything, okay?

Harper: Thanks.

Now Bucky was getting a bit more worried. A full week had passed and Harper was still out of commission. He wondered what was going on, and how she was faring on her own. He didn't like the idea of her managing things by herself when she was so sick.

* * *

James: Feeling any better?

Harper: Not really.

James: Are you okay?

Harper: Yeah, don't worry.

James: Are you certain there isn't anything you need?

Harper: Are you certain you really wouldn't mind doing me a favor?

James: Of course.

Harper: I really, really hate to ask this of you. Could you maybe pick up some cat litter? I'm really low and I don't think I currently have the strength to lug a bag from the store up to my apartment.

James: Don't worry about it. I can be over in an hour.

Harper: Whenever is convenient for you. I'll leave a key under the number placard on the door so you can let yourself in. You can just leave the litter in the entryway, and please forgive the mess.

James: Is there anything else I can bring you?

Harper: No, but thank you so much for doing this.

James: It's not a problem at all.

* * *

True to his word, Bucky arrived at Harper's apartment about an hour later. True to her word, Harper had indeed left a key for him to use. Bucky let himself in, carrying a large bag of cat litter. He knew that she said to just leave the bag by the door, but he couldn't quite bear the thought of a sick, fatigued Harper trying to lug the bag to where the litterbox was in the bathroom. With footsteps silent from decades of covert operations, Bucky made his way to his new destination.

Turning the corner into the bathroom, he was taken aback by what he saw. Harper was seated on the floor in front of the vanity, knees drawn up to her chest, rocking back and forth. Her left arm was wrapped around her shins while her right held a wrapped up syringe. Her right eye was streaming tears and appeared red and puffy. As he stared, trying to put together what was going on, her forehead dropped to her knees and her grip on the syringe tightened.

"Harper?" Bucky asked gently, aware that he was going to startle her.

Sure enough, the young woman jumped, relaxing slightly when she saw that it was him. In a strained voice, she said, "Hi, James. Thanks for picking up the cat litter."

He silently placed the cat litter down and squatted at her side. Leveling her with a serious look, he asked, "What's going on, Harper?"

The young woman glanced at the syringe in her hand and sighed. Offering it to him, she asked, "Put this on the counter?"

He did as she requested, noting that Harper had continued the rocking motion of her body. With her right hand free, she curled her fingers into a fist and pressed it firmly against her right temple. Worry growing, Bucky pressed, "Harper?"

"I get cluster headaches," she said. "I can only use that injection twice per 24 hours so I was trying to decide if I should take it now or when it comes back tonight after I go to bed."

"I don't understand," he admitted, bright blue eyes watching tears continue to fall from only her right eye.

She winced and said, "Can we talk later?"

"I don't know what's going on, but I don't feel like I can leave you like this," he frowned.

"Then hang out here for an hour while this passes," she snapped, eyes closing tightly in evident pain. She stood suddenly. "I'll be in my room."

The young woman pushed her way past him and disappeared into her bedroom next door. Bucky stood there for another moment before heading back out to the living room. He took a seat on her couch and pulled out his phone. He had begun using it to access the internet and was getting quite a bit better at it. He opened up Google and typed in "cluster headache." Navigating to a webpage, he began to read.

"Suicide headaches?" he muttered, surprised. From Harper's room he heard a choked sob, urging him to continue reading.

The next half hour was spent educating himself about the uncommon condition Harper reported having, his stomach churning all the while. He read about the excruciating, unilateral pain of cluster headaches. About how women reported the pain as being worse than childbirth. About how they were colloquially called "suicide headaches" because the pain was so bad that some people reported suicidal thoughts during a cluster cycle and because chronic sufferers sometimes saw no other way to escape the pain. He read about how the headaches came at regular intervals, sometimes several times a day, for weeks or months at a time. He read about the exhaustion that would hit after each one.

About an hour and ten minutes passed before Bucky heard the door to Harper's bedroom creak open. He shot to his feet, ready to rush to her aid. She looked alright, all things considered, as she made her way into the living room with Aslan following dutifully at her heels. He watched uncertainly as the young woman lowered herself onto the other side of the couch and pulled a throw blanket over herself. Her pallor was pale and her hairline was still damp with sweat. Her right eye looked better now, though both showed evidence of crying. She arranged herself so that she was facing him, leaning her side heavily against the back of the couch.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked gently.

"Water?" she requested, clearly having accepted the notion of accepting a little of his help.

He disappeared to the kitchen, quickly returning with a tall glass of water. He handed it to her, noticing Harper's hand shaking as she lifted it to her lips. Once she had drained a fair amount from the glass and placed it on the coffee table, Bucky sat as well. He wasn't sure how to broach the topic, and settled for, "I'm sorry you have to live with this, Harper."

"Me too," she agreed, and he could see from the wariness and pain in her eyes how earnest she was. "Do you have any questions?"

"How often do you go through cluster cycles?"

"Depends. Usually every four months or so."

"How long do they usually last?"

"Three to four weeks."

"With how many headaches each day?"

"Two to three. This time three. Which is why I've been missing work. I'm so fucking tired, I can't…" Harper broke off, her hands flying up to cover her face as a sob escaped her lips.

Bucky's frown deepened; he couldn't fathom having to live life knowing that any moment he could, or would, be hit with excruciating pain that would then strike every day for weeks on end. He stood and hurriedly grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom, returning to offer it to her. She accepted them with a wet sniffle.

"I read that breathing pure oxygen can be even more effective at relieving pain than the injections."

"I used it back home, but it's been nearly impossible for me to get it here because of my insurance. The injections can be mailed; an oxygen tank can't be," she explained.

"Gosh, I'm really sorry, Harper. I know that's a totally inadequate, obnoxious thing to say, but I really can't even imagine."

"It's not your fault," she managed, rubbing at her eyes. "This is just my life."

"I know; it just feels wrong. For someone so kind, you've really been dealt a bad hand."

"Thanks. You know a little something about that, too, so I suppose I'm in good company."

"Me?"

"Obviously."

"Not at all."

"Sure," she drawled sarcastically. "You're lucky I'm so damn tired."

Refocusing on her, Bucky asked, "So you're a week and a half into this cycle?"

"Yup. Should be maybe halfway there. Maybe a little less. It's hard to say."

"You've done a lot for me since we met; is there anything at all I can do to help?" Harper stared at him for several long moments. He grew uncomfortable and added, "I mean, I know there's nothing I can do about the pain, but…"

"I'm debating what I hate more: someone seeing me during a cluster or being alone during one," she explained. "It's embarrassing, but also scary and isolating. And I don't much care to receive help."

Bucky chuckled lightly. "I've noticed. Odd, given your life revolves around providing help."

"Don't analyze me right now," she sighed, eyes falling closed. "I'm too tired for that. Makes me uncomfortable."

The former soldier didn't ask what she meant. He could see that she lacked the energy to put forth any of her usual front. She wasn't the cheerful professional or the young intellectual she always portrayed herself as. Those veneers were removed, allowing him a look at the version of herself Bucky had only glimpsed until then. He had already developed the suspicion that she was more troubled and unhappier than she let on, and he was seeing it now. If their positions were swapped, he would hate for her to see the darker sides of him.

"What if," he suggested gently, "I stay tonight, and you can decide tomorrow whether or not there's a way I can help?"

"You gonna be okay sleeping on the couch?" she asked. "My room is way too messy to offer up."

Bucky gave her a small smile. "It will be far from the least comfortable place I've slept."

"Okay," she agreed, eyes still closed. With a sigh, she asked, "You still not into physical contact?"

"I've never said I dislike physical contact," he replied evasively.

Harper huffed and said, "Avoiding an admission of what we both know to be true isn't cute. If you expect me to let you into this part of my life, you can at least be straight with me."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a stretch as Bucky contemplated her words. He understood her point entirely, and honestly agreed. The problem was within him, as it had been since meeting her. How much of himself could he safely share with someone else? How much of himself did he deserve to burden this wonderful young woman with? He had decided to be James, and maybe this was the time to commit to that.

"Honestly, I really have no idea," he admitted. "I don't remember the last time I experienced purposeful physical contact outside of… combat."

Bright cinnamon colored eyes were revealed to him briefly before her eyes fell shut again. A small smile twitched at her lips. "Well, I am tired and freezing."

"Oh," he replied uncertainly.

Harper extended her hand toward him, letting it hang in the space between them while he struggled to figure out what she expected of him. Finally, he took her hand and gently pulled her up into a sitting position. The dark haired woman groaned and scooted closer to him, crossing over fully to his end of the couch. His body froze and tensed, but he didn't stop her as she shifted and curled up against him. The contact was different. It wasn't threatening or painful, like any of the contact he experienced as the Winter Soldier. It wasn't brotherly, like he had experienced in his army days. And it wasn't sexual, like he had experienced with the dames back in 1930s Brooklyn.

"Acceptable?" she asked.

He took a slow breath before replying, "Yeah, I think so."

"Good, because you are as warm as I expected," Harper replied, letting her head drop to his shoulder. "Apologies for being a wreck with unwashed hair."

"You're not a wreck," he disagreed.

"You're too kind," she scoffed. "Want some of this blanket?"

Bucky declined, "No, I'm fine."

"Okay. Netflix?"

* * *

The next several hours were spent watching random movies. At some point, Bucky realized that Harper had fallen asleep, still leaning into him. He thought little of it, and selected another movie he had been meaning to watch.

As the credits began to roll, a high-pitched whine sounded from the woman on his shoulder. Harper sat up, roused from sleep. She pressed the heel of her hand to her right eye. Bucky placed a gentle hand on her back, hoping to provide even a little bit of comfort.

"Oh god," she sobbed, burying her face in her hands and beginning to rock back and forth in place. "James, the medication?"

He stood immediately, hastening to the bathroom to retrieve the syringe she had left on the vanity earlier in the day. Returning to the couch, he offered it to her. Harper took it and ripped the protective packaging off in a rush, the cap to the syringe closely following. She threw the blanket off of her, tugged up her t-shirt, and pressed the tip of the unit to her stomach. Her thumb clicked the unit to administer the medication. Bucky watched her place the cap back on the unit, sliding it back into the plastic. She turned to look at him, her eye puffy and streaming tears.

"I have a sharps bin in the cabinet in the bathroom," she said, offering him the wrapped up syringe.

He took it, again moving to the bathroom to dispose of the item. He opened the cabinet below the vanity, seeing the pedal wastebasket with a bright green biohazard bag tucked over the rim. He stepped on the pedal, lifting the lid. The evidence of the pain Harper had been experiencing in the past week and a half met his eyes. A bin half full of emptied syringes.

Bucky returned to the living room, looking on with a painful tightness in his chest as Harper still sat on the couch rocking forward and back. A tissue was tucked beneath her nose, stemming the flow of mucus running in conjunction with the tears from her right eye. Harper let out a heartbreaking groan of pain. The former soldier sat beside her again, hesitating for a moment before wrapping an arm around her.

For a while, Harper gave no indication that she was aware of the gesture. Eventually, she slowly began to stop rocking and turned to press the left side of her face into his shoulder. She kept the right side of her face hidden behind a wad of tissues.

"The sumatriptan is starting to work," she muttered. "The pain is manageable enough that I feel like I can be more still."

Bucky ran his hand slowly up and down her arm, surprised at how comfortable he was touching her like this. Maybe the fact that he could do something positive for another person was a big part of the surprise he was feeling. Or maybe it was the fact that Harper was trusting him to touch her, to comfort her, as a friend.

Another hour passed before the tension left Harper's body and she could vocalize any kind of relief. With a grumbled explanation that she was going to bed, the young woman forced herself to her feet. With her large cat following behind her, she disappeared into her bedroom. Bucky shifted to lie down on the couch, mind whirring after the day he'd had.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, favorites, follows, and views. I'm really excited that there is interest in this story so quickly. I would truly appreciate continued feedback. Also, it is worth mentioning that I am not a cluster headache sufferer myself and everything I have written about in this story has come from a lot of online research and reading about people's experiences on message boards, forums, etc. If there are any details I got glaringly wrong, I do sincerely apologize and can try to make adjustments as much as possible or otherwise note my error. Thank you again for the continued support.


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky had a difficult time falling asleep, unfamiliar as he was with the environment and constantly listening for any concerning sounds from Harper's bedroom. Once he did finally fall asleep, he actually slept reasonably well for several hours. He awoke to the sound of feet quickly scurrying to the bathroom. The enhanced soldier listened carefully, comforted when he heard the shower turn on. He checked the time on his phone, discovering that it was just past 8am. Too late to go work at the shipping center, but also too early for Harper to be up already.

The former soldier ran his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten it out a bit in an effort to look a bit less unkempt. He shifted uneasily, wishing he had something to occupy his body with. He had the distinct feeling that Harper wouldn't appreciate it if he did any sort of straightening up or if he washed her dishes. It would make him feel better to stay busy by taking care of Harper in whatever way he could, but he also knew it would undermine Harper's sense of independence and capability. She had already made her hesitance about letting him into this part of her life known, and he didn't want to give her any reason to regret having done so. Her trust in him was something he had just discovered and he didn't want to lose it. The Winter Soldier was a monster, Bucky was broken, but James was a friend to a woman who had dedicated her young life to helping the most vulnerable members of society.

The sound of a hairdryer assured him that his anxious wait was nearing its end. It occurred to him that he could leave her a note and make his escape, but that didn't agree with his sensibilities. He couldn't leave before assuring that Harper was okay. Perhaps it was something left over from his previous life as Bucky.

He heard the bathroom door open and turned as Harper emerged. She looked relatively well with her dark hair clean and falling in waves over her shoulders. But dark crescents beneath her eyes and her simple attire of black leggings and a matching hoodie spoke to her fatigue.

"Morning, James," she greeted. "I hope you were able to sleep a bit?"

"I slept fine," he nodded. "More importantly, did you sleep?"

"I did," she nodded. "I appreciate your concern and your help yesterday. I was thinking that if you're free, we could grab breakfast nearby? I should be okay for a few hours before I'll have to be back here."

"Sure," he agreed easily, realizing suddenly that he hadn't eaten since lunch the day before.

Harper gave him a soft smile, and said, "Great. Let's go."

* * *

Over a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage, Bucky caught a glimpse of the normal, well Harper. She also kindly and smoothly drew her boundaries, which he could appreciate and respect. He had been invited over the following weekend, which would still likely fall under the current cluster cycle, but would be nearly a week before he would be allowed into her struggles again.

Without his usual Wednesday coffee with Harper, Bucky decided to stay later than usual at the shipping center to make some extra money. He had his eye on a couch at a thrift store in his neighborhood. One of the books Harper had lent him touched upon insomnia and other sleep disturbances. It raised an interesting notion he was looking to try out – keeping his bed solely as a place to sleep. Since running to Bucharest and securing the dingy studio, he had been using his lumpy mattress for sleep, to read, and to write all of his memories in his journals. The good, the bad, and the bloody were rehashed and recorded as he perched on the mattress, and then nightmares would plague him. If he had a separate place besides just the rickety, uncomfortable barstools at the peninsula dividing the kitchen and living space to sit and work through at least some of his demons, maybe sleep could find him easier in bed.

"What, no date today, foreigner?"

Bucky glanced at one of the other shipping workers. The company employed by the shipping center provided the former assassin with an interesting perspective. As a young man, he had been entirely guilty of seeking out the company of many pretty dames. He enjoyed little more than dating, kissing, and some heavy petting. It was a bonus when he could get more. He had always thought he was respectful towards women. While he had always been kind and polite, in retrospect, he had probably led on many of his dates with no intention at all of committing to them. Dames were fun, and he was all about fun before the war. However, there was a whole new flavor of disrespect in the shipping center.

"I've told you that I'm not dating," he sighed.

"Fine, whatever, not getting laid today, foreigner? Would rather spend the afternoon with us?" the other man laughed lecherously.

"I'm not meeting with my friend today, no," Bucky replied firmly.

"Shove it with your prim and proper bullshit, ya pansy," one of the other workers barked, heaving a crate onto a dolly.

Bucky rolled his eyes, effortlessly adding another crate. The first man added, "Seriously, foreigner, I don't get you. If I had a hot, younger piece of ass to plow every week, you'd bet I'd be in here bragging about all the ways I was havin' her. So either you're too shy to share with us, or you're actually not screwin' around with her."

Conversations with the other men were rarely tasteful. Even though most were married or in long-term relationships, they talked about the things they did with their partners, about the pretty women who worked at the nearby bar they frequented after work, about whether they could get away with making a move on the young woman at the market. And the single ones bragged about their exploits, the working girls they frequently commissioned. It rubbed him the wrong way, even taking into account his own past issues with women. He regretted ever mentioned Harper, even though he hadn't gotten into specifics. They knew she was another foreigner, that she was several years younger than him, and that he didn't work into the afternoon on Wednesdays or on the weekends because he spent time with her. Unfortunately, they all assumed that meant that he only spent time with her because he was sleeping with her.

"I keep telling you that she and I are just friends. You can all drop it," he replied tersely.

"Jeez, foreigner, you always got a stick up your ass. You need at least a blowie to take the edge off that attitude, if not a good lay. Get yourself a working girl if your friend won't fuck ya," a third worker counseled.

Blue eyes rolled again, and the former assassin held back from reacting to their needling. He continued unloading crates from pallets, and the others eventually conversation moved away from him. Bucky was saddened that so many men could speak about women the way these did, and that his old self had, though more politely, treated the dames he dated with similar disregard for their personhood.

* * *

For an hour and twelve minutes, Bucky watched on helplessly as Harper paced, tissues balled up to her nose and streaming eye. Every so often, a strangled sob parted her lips. To Bucky's chagrin, the large orange cat took up perch beside him on the couch as all three waited out Harper's latest headache. Before it had settled in, Harper revealed that in this cluster cycle, the evening headaches were the mildest. Her medication was reserved for the late morning into early afternoon headache, as well as the one that took root at night after she had fallen asleep. The nighttime ones were the worst. Bucky couldn't fathom the pain she was in if the untreated headaches he had seen were the least debilitating.

Finally, Harper stopped pacing. She ambled over to the couch and dropped down onto it, clearly spent. Aslan immediately moved to ball up in her lap. Her fingers threaded clumsily through his orange and white fur until she mentioned, "I'm cold."

Bucky obliged, scooting in closer and allowing the young woman to support her weight against him. Big green eyes glared up at him as he came in contact with the old cat's human. He looked down at the creature warily, the two of them locked in a bizarre stalemate.

"I hope you don't feel obligated to be here," Harper muttered. "I can really handle this on my own. I have been for six years."

"I don't think 'obligated' is the right word. I just thought it might be even just a little less daunting to get through if you weren't alone. You're far from your family and your friends, so I figured I might try to step in a little. Is my being here making things worse?"

Harper let her head fall to his shoulder. "You're definitely not making anything worse. It's just embarrassing. But this is a better way to recover than to just pull a blanket over my head and cry out my self-pity."

Bucky frowned. "You're entitled to every ounce of self-pity, you know. You don't deserve this kind of pain."

"You really perseverate on the concept of deserving," Harper mused. "Makes me think you're preoccupied by what you feel you do or don't deserve in your life."

A wry smile formed on the former soldier's lips. "Do these headaches heighten your observational abilities, or lower your usual careful avoidance of saying things that might make me uncomfortable?"

"The latter," she chuckled tiredly. "I can never quite find it in myself to pretend when I'm this fucking tired."

"When you aren't tired, you expend your energy on pretending what?"

The dark haired woman scoffed. "What don't I pretend? I pretend I'm happy, I pretend that I find work fulfilling, that it doesn't frustrate me that I just can't seem to get better at speaking Romanian, that I don't see how much pain you're in, and that your pain isn't one of the things that first drew me to you."

"That doesn't sound like a magnetizing quality," Bucky replied evenly.

"I desperately needed to meet another foreigner as lost and unhappy as I felt. Of course, the longer I've known you, the more obvious it's become that my problems are petty in comparison. There's some heavy fucking shit going on up in that handsome head of yours."

"Astute."

"You don't deserve your pain either, you know."

Bucky's chest clenched. "That I do deserve."

"I don't know what happened while you were serving, and I don't expect for you to ever share that with me. But being an instrument of war doesn't make you the guiltiest party. The conductor of the instrumental orchestra holds that distinction."

"But each instrument still played. And some even had a solo."

"And good on the soloists who didn't let that honor go to their head. Who retained their modest humanity and continued to try to lead a normal life."

"It is the least a soloist can do after what they did to the audience."

"It is also the least they can do for themselves after escaping the control of a conductor who thoughtlessly put them through such a trying performance."

"Ultimately, the soloist needs to take ownership of their actions, and to accept what that means."

"Ownership is important, but not to the point of self-destruction. Everyone has the capacity for redemption."

"I'm not sure I believe that."

"Maybe you are misunderstanding redemption," Harper guessed. "Redemption doesn't erase what has been done. Redemption is freedom from sin or evil. It's moving forward and rising above what has been done while making every effort to remain free of it. Do you really believe you can't move forward without conducting yourself as you did while serving?"

Bucky didn't answer, but Harper didn't seem surprised or put off. It was the heaviest, most honest conversation he'd had about himself with her. He wasn't sure if he had been converted to her way of thinking – he certainly still felt like he didn't deserve someone like her in his life – but it felt good to be a little more honest with her.

* * *

It had been six months since Bucky met Harper, and nine since fleeing Washington D.C. There had been no signs at all that he had been tracked or discovered, for which he was grateful. He hadn't originally planned on staying in one place so long, but he no longer had any interest in running away again unless he had to. Living as normally as possible was his new goal, and he was enjoying it. His dreams were still bathed in blood, pain, and glassy eyes that told him he didn't deserve normalcy, but when he awoke, he knew there was a young woman who could reassure him that he did.

Books on memory were his new favorite to check out from both the local library and the library of Harper. One had offered an interesting perspective, framing memory health around overall nutritional and physical wellbeing. It was because of this book that the former assassin found himself in the middle of a very busy market one day after finishing work at the shipping center.

Crowds had become somewhat easier, although on a personal level they still felt terribly uncomfortable. But hiding in a crowd was just as easy as hiding in the shadows. He perused rows of fruits, stopping in front of several crates of plums. Though he had his journals, he didn't want to have to rely on them alone. He wanted to remember. His family, Steve, the Howling Commandos, the experimentation, the fall from the mountainside, the deaths, Harper…

Looking up at the vendor, he asked, "How much?"

* * *

Working at the docks was significantly better than working in the shipping center. The dock manager had hired him immediately upon seeing how much he could lift, and he oftentimes got assigned to unload boats with only one or two other people. Everyone was more spread out, which kept conversation to a minimum. When there was conversation, Bucky was careful not to even mention Harper so that none of them could badger him about doing explicit things with her. After many months of listening to his former coworkers talking about her in that way, he had begun to find it difficult to ignore that she was, in fact, an attractive woman. He had shamefully thought of her a few times when tending to his needs, and he desperately wanted to stop thinking of her in that way. A challenge when every day he was surrounded by men talking about women, and the only woman he came in contact with was the one they continually inquired about. His playboy days were over, and Harper was his friend. He didn't dare think any further than that.

Another benefit to working on the docks was that he got to spend time outside. The cool dawn air fading into the warm spring days and the spray of saltwater on his skin made him feel alive in a way he hadn't in a long time. When had he last appreciated the visceral feeling of being a man outdoors?

Plus, the pay was much better. He got the couch he had wanted and was able to pay Harper back for all of the dinners she cooked with lunch or breakfast out at the nearby diner which had become another staple haunt for them. Life was deliciously normal, and he actually felt like maybe he was happy again.

* * *

James: Do you already have dinner planned for tomorrow?

Harper: Nothin fancy. Why?

James: One of the fishermen I've gotten to know offered me a free dinner. I figured we could cash in on it?

Harper: Sure he wasn't asking you to dinner? On his dime?

Bucky flushed brilliantly at the implication.

James: No, I'm quite confident that was not the case. He specifically said I should bring a guest.

Harper: And you're inviting little ol me? Why, James, dear! How flattered this old spinster is!

James: Are you reading Pride and Prejudice again?

Harper: Mayhaps. Or mayhaps I am four hours into the six hour mini-series with Colin Firth.

James: And how far into a bottle of wine are you?

Harper: Oh, that was gone by hour two.

The former soldier couldn't help but chuckle to himself. There was something incredibly charming about Harper when she was drunk.

James: I'll send you a reminder text in the morning about dinner.

Harper: That is probably for the best. You're the best, ya know?

James: That sure sounds like the wine.

Harper: No way! All me.

James: Sure, sure. Night, Harper.

Harper: Night, James. Sleep well! May your dreams be full of crabs and shrimps!

"She's something," Bucky couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

A/N: Apologies for the slightly belated update! I was doing so well sticking to my self-imposed schedule, too... Regardless, thank you so much for all of the reviews, favorites, follows, and views. I'm really excited that there has been interest in this story. I still worry a little about my pacing and my characterization of Bucky; any feedback would really be appreciated. Thank you again for your continued support.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky found himself facing an interesting dilemma, which seemed to have become a common occurrence since meeting Harper. What does one wear to dinner with a pretty dame if she isn't a dame you're courting? The former soldier wasn't sure, and knew that it wasn't really even much of a question given his limited wardrobe anyway. He supposed that it wouldn't hurt to shave, beforehand. Most of the time he wore a dusting of scruff, feeling too uncomfortable with his old clean shaven appearance. He wasn't that young army recruit anymore. But he supposed cleaning up a little bit before going out to dinner with Harper was appropriate.

They had gone out to eat for breakfast and lunch before, but it was always by casual, mutual decision. Tonight, though, it was dinner - a dinner he had invited her to. Did she think of it as a date? Or just a night out between friends? Did modern men have this much trouble maintaining friendships with women?

Sooner than he was really prepared for, he had gotten ready, made the walk to Harper's apartment, and found himself buzzing her. He heard the familiar electronic hum and ensuing loud clank as the door unlocked. He trekked up the stairs, ignoring the moans and smells on the way. As he walked down her hallway, he saw Harper step outside of her door, calling behind her, "See you later, buddy!"

As she shut the door behind her and locked it, bright blue eyes roamed her form. She wore dark wash skinny jeans which were tucked into black, chunky heeled ankle boots. A black tank top with a scoop neckline clung to her torso a bit more than her normal attire. Over that was a black bomber jacket with floral lace sleeves. Her hair was down in loose, dark waves and her face was naturally made up as usual, minus a striking dark purple lip. It was a color unlike what he had ever imagined as attractive on a woman, but on Harper it was very much so.

"Hey!" she greeted cheerfully, stuffing her keys into the small black crossbody bag she wore. Looking him over quickly, she observed, "You shaved!"

"I do that from time to time."

"It's a nice change," she replied, leading the way back down the hallway. One of the other apartments opened up as they neared it, allowing a middle aged man to take his leave. He was disheveled, no doubt due to the reason he had been in the apartment. He looked Harper up and down and smirked lecherously at her.

"Hey, darlin', whatchu doin' tomorrow night?" he asked her in Romanian, giving himself away as a local.

Replying in her perfectly pronounced, though perhaps poorly accented Romanian, Harper replied coolly, "Not fucking you."

"I ain't gotta pay ya her rate," he continued, jabbing his thumb back at the apartment he had just exited from. Glancing toward Bucky, he offered, "Whatever he's payin' ya, I can match."

They were level with the man now, as he was blocking the way to the stairs. Bucky glared down at him and hissed in impeccable Romanian, "Watch how you speak to her."

The guy looked at first taken aback before sneering, "Let the lady handle her own business."

"The lady is handling her business," Harper said calmly. "He can fuck me for free, and you can fuck off for free. Have a lovely evening."

She pushed by the man, Bucky following close behind and hiding his bewilderment with another murderous glare at the horrid stranger. After a moment, he called after them, "You shoulda fuckin' told me you weren't a hooker, ya bitch!"

Bucky froze and whirled around on the spot, everything in him screaming to confront the disgusting man. Harper's arm linked with his and he tensed for a moment. She had reached out to his metal arm which, though covered by a jacket and his usual glove, still had him panicking. She didn't seem to notice anything, merely giving him a gentle tug. He reluctantly turned and allowed her to pull him back along their intended path.

As soon as they were out of the building, he released a frustrated sigh through his nose. "I coulda done something back there. That was inexcusable what he was saying to you!"

"Comes with the territory of living where sex workers do their business. I can handle myself. You just have to make it abundantly clear to them that you're not for sale and that you aren't gonna take their shit," Harper shrugged, calling attention to the fact that her arm was still threaded through his.

Pushing off his discomfort for now, since the damage was already done by this point, he perseverated, "He deserved an ass kicking."

"I don't need any man to defend my honor," she said pointedly, looking up him with a peeved expression.

Bucky groaned in frustration. This was not how he wanted the night to go and it had only just begun. "I didn't mean to imply that you can't look after yourself. It was... upsetting to hear someone talk to you like that and I'm annoyed that I have never even considered it a possibility before, despite knowing your building is full of tricks."

"You don't need to feel that way. That implies responsibility, of which you have none for me."

"I'm not trying to impose a power dynamic between us, Harper. Trust me, I know you are an incredibly capable woman," he explained, agitated that she couldn't understand what he was feeling. He didn't want her angry with him over such a significant misunderstanding. "It's not about responsibility for you, it's about having a responsibility to protect someone I care about."

They walked in silence for a long moment before Harper asked, "So you meant it as someone who cares about me, huh? Hopefully not just 'cause I said you could fuck me?"

A sly grin slid into place on her lips and Bucky laughed in relief that their argument was so easily reconciled. "Well, the offer certainly didn't hurt anything."

She continued their jest, saying, "You have a lot of patience. Over half a year of waiting to find out if you could get in my pants. To thank you for the patience, and the caring sentiments, if things were to ever become physically threatening in your presence, you would have my permission to assist."

Catching the seriousness and hidden apology in her words, he flashed her a small smile. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, especially if you want to actually get to this dinner. All this talk of my pants and you in them, man…" she dramatically fanned herself with her free hand, effectively diffusing the rest of the tension.

"Ya know, there was a time where I probably would've found it wildly uncomfortable and unbecoming for a lady to say something like that, but it's actually really refreshing how bluntly crude you are."

Harper scoffed and said, "Wow, James, you flatter me. Offer into my pants rescinded."

"I genuinely meant it as a compliment," he said quickly. "You're really unlike any other women I've known."

"Sure, sure, trying to backtrack now that I've taken back my offer," she laughed lightly.

Bucky shook his head in amusement, glad things were back to normal between them despite the odd, crude joke that he was refusing to think about too closely. Changing the topic, he said, "Your Romanian really isn't bad, you know."

"It really isn't that good either," Harper grimaced. "Especially compared to you, Mr. Fluent."

"You really just need to work on your accent," he pressed. "And expand your vocabulary, per your own admission."

Harper sighed. "The accent is the part of a language I can never get down."

Bucky raised a brow at her. "Do you speak other languages?"

"None as close to fluently as Romanian because it's never been necessary, but I speak passable French and Italian."

"French is one I wish I could speak. I understand fine, but to actually produce is a whole different story. And Italian is a language I haven't gotten to learn."

"So do you speak other languages then?" Harper asked.

"Some," he answered with a shrug.

Harper rolled her eyes. "Is that all I'm gonna get? You can drop the tall, dark, handsome, mysterious act now that you know you're in, ya know."

"I can speak Spanish, Portuguese, German, Russian, Japanese, and I can read Latin."

"Holy shit!" Harper exclaimed, stopping and forcing him to stop as well because of their linked arms. "Are you a fucking language savant?!"

"Remember what you were saying about necessity?" he asked pointedly.

Harper blinked away her surprise and they resumed walking. "Fine, then I propose an arrangement. You help me with my Romanian accent, I help you learn some French."

"A mutually beneficial proposal," he agreed. "Deal."

"I'm all about mutual benefits," she jested, bumping her hip against his leg playfully.

Bucky blushed lightly and turned away. "You're too much sometimes."

"C'mon, you know that's part of why you tolerate me," she laughed.

"Maybe it's just because you make good cake," he countered, leading her down a side street toward the river that connected the nation's capital to the Black Sea.

"Your sweet tooth is one of your most endearing qualities," the young woman asserted.

Bucky couldn't help the heat that rushed to his cheeks again. Trying to brush off his embarrassment with a return to humor, he said, "You can stop buttering me up now that you've offered me an in, you know."

"Don't hold my offer against me, or it'll still be just you and your hand," she threatened with a hearty laugh.

Bucky blanched, faltering as he was suddenly hit with the many images of the woman on his arm that had inspired his hand on a shameful number of occasions. He knew there was no way she could know, but her sentiment caught him entirely off guard, both with its accuracy and its obscenity. "Harper!"

"Sorry, sorry!" she choked out through a fit of laughter. "Too much, I get it!"

The former assassin wasn't sure his face could flush any brighter. He had been trying not to look into the night's running joke for this very reason – too many implications that were far too real. His old self would have latched onto the offer and pursued it until he had realized some of his unspeakable imaginings. He wasn't that person anymore, but he also sure as hell was a living, breathing, warm-blooded man, and that was taking some reconciling.

Finally recovered from her laughing fit, Harper continued more seriously, "Sorry, James, I really didn't intend for you to be uncomfortable. I forget in which ways you are particularly reserved sometimes and things just come out. I'll try to be more considerate."

"You don't need to apologize or edit yourself," he replied. "You just caught me off guard."

"All the same."

Their conversation was cut short by their arrival at the small restaurant. There were a few tables crowded into a storefront patio facing the river and more crammed inside the bustling building. The aroma of seafood filled the air, and Bucky admittedly could think of little else for a moment. Somehow, from within the crowd emerged Florin, the fisherman and restaurant owner he had gotten to know through his work at the docks.

"Foreigner!" Florin greeted warmly as he approached. "And guest!"

"You did insist," Bucky nodded.

"I did, I did! Patio seat?" he offered. Bucky glanced at Harper who nodded her agreement. The fisherman beamed, "Excellent!"

He led them to a comparatively spacious table in the front corner of the patio. As they approached, an internal battle began within him about which seat to take. The far side seat was much preferable, as it would give him a view of the rest of the patio and anyone approaching the area. However, it also afforded a much nicer view of the docking area and the river, running prettily beneath the moonlight. He didn't want to rob Harper of the view for his own paranoias.

Harper immediately reached for the nearer chair, filling him with relief. He sat in the far side seat, wondering not for the first time exactly how much of what he was feeling Harper could sense.

"For the lady to drink? We have some nice local wines?" Florin offered.

"Anything white and not too dry?" Harper asked, flushing lightly as Bucky often observed her to do when called to use the local language.

"Certainly!" the man nodded before turning to Bucky, "And you, foreigner? Beer?"

Bucky nodded. "Thanks again, Florin. Your generosity is appreciated, though certainly was not necessary."

"Trust me, the time you have saved me at the docks more than outweighs one dinner. Which will be out shortly. Hand-selected," he grinned before rushing back into the chaos of the packed restaurant.

"I see Florin does have an appreciation for the strong bod, even if not in the way I initially drunkenly guessed at," Harper laughed, switching back to English.

Bucky shrugged. "You could say I am efficient."

"On another note, I was wondering if you wanted to hit up a bar later?" Harper asked. "No big deal if you don't. I just figured it might be fun since we hermits are already out on a Saturday night."

"Sure," he agreed easily. "I assume that suggestion informed your outfit choice?"

"It did," she admitted. "An atypical look for an atypical night out."

"It shouldn't be atypical. You look really nice," he mentioned.

Harper fidgeted uncomfortably, surprising Bucky. She replied with a meek, "Thanks."

Lifting a brow, he asked, "What, you don't think so?"

"I hardly think you want to sit here and discuss my insecurities," Harper waved his question off.

"I'll admit I'm baffled."

"You try being the thick American woman around here for a few years and we'll reevaluate your self-esteem," she frowned, looking dejectedly out at the river.

"Thick?"

"Obviously."

"Like… curvy? Sexy? That's considered thick?" Bucky asked, genuinely trying to wrap his mind around this revelation about modern culture. "Back home too, or just here?"

"Back home, too."

"That's… asinine," he replied earnestly, wondering at what point since he had enlisted that society had lost its appreciation for a beautiful, curvy dame. He caught sight of the grimace on Harper's face and asked, "What's wrong?"

"The word 'sexy' makes me wildly uncomfortable," the young woman admitted.

Bucky read between the lines and his chest tightened, realizing she found it uncomfortable because 'sexy' hadn't historically meant her. Carefully, he replied, "Despite the fact that it's much more accurate than 'thick,' I can refrain from using that word."

"Thanks," she replied, still visibly uncomfortable.

A wine glass was set on the table in front of her, for which Harper was clearly grateful. A beer came to rest in front of Bucky, who absently thanked the server as he continued to watch Harper. It hadn't occurred to him that she might not realize how absolutely attractive she was, at least to him. Maybe despite all of her crude jokes, she really did only have completely platonic feelings for him. But then, didn't he? Wasn't she just a friend who he happened to find attractive if he allowed himself to notice?

"Sorry, I've made this awkward," Harper sighed. "Bet you didn't expect such a rollercoaster when you invited me out, huh? Let's start again. Are you actually enjoying my Cognitive Psych textbook? That's definitely your strangest borrow."

"I am," he replied honestly, grateful to be pulled from the turmoil going on in his head.

They discussed the text comfortably until Florin returned, two bowls filled with all varieties of shellfish and two plates of freshly baked fish balanced on his arms. Setting the dishes down, he explained, "Mussels, clams, shrimp and crab legs in a sauce made of white wine, butter, garlic, herbs, and tomatoes, and baked Black Sea Salmon with lemon and herbs brought in fresh this morning."

They both offered their gratitude for the fisherman's generosity, which he waved off before rushing back into the restaurant.

"I have no idea when that guy sleeps," Bucky mused.

"Thanks again for inviting me out," Harper mentioned, sipping at her wine again. "I really do appreciate it and am sorry for all of the road bumps tonight."

"Road bumps are more than worth the present good company," he offered her a small smile.

She returned the gesture and they fell easily back into conversation. Bucky looked down at the deliciously aromatic food in front of him, suddenly gripped by an unforeseen worry. Deshelling shellfish wasn't something one normal did with a gloved hand, and he certainly couldn't accomplish the task single handedly. Harper had always had the amazingly good grace not to ask about his odd habit of covering his left hand, for which he had been immensely thankful. But what was he to do now?

He started on the salmon in an effort to delay finding a solution to the current problem. He continued to listen to Harper as she discussed some of her own undergraduate research as she systematically shelled all of her mussels. To his surprise, without missing a beat in the conversation, she pushed her plate toward his and began forking her mussels onto his plate. Bright blue eyes watched as she began moving his shelled ones onto her plate in exchange. She repeated the process until they both had plates of ready-to-eat foods and a pile of shells in a bowl between them. Neither spoke about the process, but Bucky knew she had known of his dilemma. In that moment, he had a thought that had threatened to emerge countless times in the months of knowing Harper, but which he had always pushed away before consciously acknowledging it. But now it took form, swiftly and concretely, with no chance of keeping it as bay. Suddenly, he knew: if he allowed himself, and perhaps even if he didn't, he could certainly fall in love with her.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, favorites, follows. I love this chapter and hope that you do, too! I appreciate all of the continued support and look forward to hearing more feedback.


	9. Chapter 9

Despite his rather life-changing realization, dinner passed normally and comfortably. Conversation flowed smoothly and enjoyably, and Bucky was more than happy that it ended in her leftover mussels and shrimp in his plate. Their glasses drained and bellies full, the pair extended their copious compliments and thanks to Florin, and took their leave.

Harper didn't hook their arms this time, so the duo merely walked side by side through the dark streets of Bucharest. Suddenly, Bucky couldn't ignore how very enticing he found Harper visually. Her dark hair that fell in long waves over her shoulders looked soft and vibrant under the streetlights. Framed by dark lashes were her bright, cinnamon brown eyes which saw much more of him than anyone else had since he had regained control from the Winter Soldier and which judged him for nothing. She was amply busty without being too much and there was an hourglass curve to her waist that was normally hidden beneath flowy clothes or cardigans. Her thighs, hugged in her dark jeans, were deliciously full, and were the subject of some of his lewder imaginings. Her mouth was small, but with full lips and a pronounced cupid's bow, and was normally a very nice facial feature. Tonight, though, they demanded attention painted as they were in a rich, deep purple. Part of him wanted desperately to taste them, while the other part of him was terrified at the flood gate that had burst open.

Ignorant of his problems, Harper maintained the conversation he was now distracted from until asking, "Any particular bar you like?"

"Uh… not specifically, no," he shook his head, hoping to dispel everything going on in his head.

"This one looks as good as any," Harper said, indicating a bar they were approaching.

For the first time, Bucky noticed they weren't far from his apartment. Something, he realized, that Harper wasn't even aware of. Guilty about the sheer volume of information he was still keeping from her, he mentioned, "We're actually really close to my apartment."

"Oh yeah? Not a bad walk to the docks then," she replied, not at all fazed by the belated information.

"No, not at all," he agreed. He arrived at the door to the bar first and pulled it open for her to enter.

A burst of loud pop music met them from inside. Harper was undeterred, stepping in and bee-lining for the bar. Over the din of the sound system and socializing patrons, she asked, "What do you want? I've got first round."

"Uh… gin and tonic?"

"For your sweet tooth? Okay, darlin'," she drawled with a teasing smirk. It took him a minute to work out that she was poking fun at his dry drink selection when he had clearly demonstrated a preference for confections. Little did she know how good prohibition gin had been or the fondness for the liquor he had forged. She inclined her head toward an available table in the corner of the bar, and he nodded his understanding before moving to claim it.

Harper found him a few minutes later, setting his drink in front of him. He was surprised to see the deep amber liquid in her glass. Catching a hint of the savory aroma, he guessed, "Whiskey?"

"Bourbon," she answered, lifting the glass to her lips. "Not my drink of choice, but an old favorite all the same."

He sipped at his drink before asking, "What is your drink of choice?"

"Rum and Coke, easy." At his continued surprised, Harper laughed, "Yeah, I drink like a middle aged man. I know."

"The surprises are endless," he smiled softly.

"You'd be surprised how much rum I consumed through my college career. I'm to this day caught between feeling proud and ashamed."

"Really?"

Harper nodded, swallowing another sip of amber liquid. "I was something of a partier. Especially the last half of college after the cluster headaches started. Not during a cycle, obviously, but pretty much the entire rest of the time."

"How old were you when they started?"

"I got my first one when I was nineteen. It's been pretty much like clockwork since."

Blue eyes roamed Harper's face, noting her downcast gaze. "That must've been a really hard thing to deal with. Especially so young."

"It's still hard to deal with. Learning that I would have to contend with chronic pain for my entire life was a difficult pill to swallow, but now that I've been through a number of cycles, there are times when I truly don't know how I will last another sixty years with this. I'm pretty depressed, really, just in a high-functioning way."

"Do you feel like… you won't make it another sixty years?" he asked cautiously.

Harper took a long drink from her glass, emptying it. With palpable honestly, Harper answered, "Talking about lasting the entire rest of my life, I have no idea if I'll make it. When I'm in a cycle, it's hard to imagine getting through the next five years, the next year. But when I'm not in a cycle and I'm just generally disappointed in my life, I am focused more on making sure I'm happier in five years than I am focused on not being here in five years."

"I wish I could offer some sort of help. Or that I could at least better empathize with you."

The young woman raised a brow. "What, like to actually know the level of pain I experience?"

"If that's not too offensive a notion?"

"It's not offensive, I just don't think there are any more flavors of pain you need to experience in your life."

Bucky saved himself from responding by finishing off his own drink. "Want another?"

"Sure," she nodded.

He stood to get the drinks quickly, not quite ready for another display of Harper's insightfulness. He felt selfish. She had just shared more than she ever had with him, and he ran from the opportunity to give her anything in return. As he waited to grab the attention of the bartender, he reminded himself to stay calm. Somehow, all of his insecurities were coming out to play. He wished his body didn't burn alcohol from his system, because he could sure use something to soothe his nerves and lower his inhibitions. He wished there weren't quite so many implications to being more honest with her.

He returned to their table with new drinks in hand. To his relief, Harper brought conversation back to dinner and asked after some of the other fishermen he had met since beginning to work on the docks. Time passed quickly, and it seemed like no time at all when Harper glanced at her phone and pointed out that it was already pushing 2am.

"Should we take our leave?" she asked.

"Probably," he agreed. He stood and shrugged back into his jacket. Harper stood as well, and they headed out of the bar. Stepping down the single step from the entryway to the side walk, Harper slipped, catching herself with a giggle. He reached for her, steadying her with a hand at her elbow. "You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry!" she nodded vigorously.

Bucky noted the light flush of her face and the glassy sheen to her slightly unfocused eyes. "You always surprise me when you're drunk. You're too good at holding conversation."

"All of my remaining brain power goes to talking rather than walking," she admitted. "But I've made my way home drunker and in higher heels than these, so no worries!"

"You can say 'no worries,' but I'm still worried," he replied. "We're close to my apartment. Want to just stay the night?"

Harper shook her head emphatically in the negative. "No, no, I don't want to put you out at all. Plus, Aslan has never spent the night alone."

Bucky sighed through his nose, relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of Harper seeing how he lived, but also knowing it was going to be an interesting walk back to her apartment. He asked, "You okay to walk?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she grinned widely. She hooked her arm with his right one and gently tugged him to begin the trek to her home. Stopping suddenly, she said, "Wait. If I make you walk me home, that's just as inconvenient. How 'bout we each head home and I just text you once I'm there?"

"No way," he shook his head. "I don't mind walking you home."

"Well then do you want to stay over with me? You don't even have to sleep on the couch this time. You could take Aslan's half of bed. It's a queen."

He blushed for what felt like the hundredth time that night and said, "The couch is fine, Harper."

They continued walking again, though at a slower rate than normal to allow for increased caution on Harper's part. It felt like she was walking particularly close to him, her shoulder brushing his arm every so often. He wondered what it would be like to slip his hand down her forearm, for her fingers to weave between his. He wondered if she would mind the same gesture from his cybernetic arm.

"Thanks again for inviting me out," the young social worker said quietly. "And for walking me home. Guess I can't quite handle my liquor like I could back in my party days. Though I will still maintain I could get home."

"I'm sure you're capable of getting home," he allowed. "You're a very competent drunk."

"It's just such a shitty neighborhood," Harper lamented with a sigh.

Bucky looked down at the pleasantly intoxicated brunette and decided to push his luck, ignoring his earlier guilt about lacking informational reciprocity. "How did you end up here, Harper?"

"Oof," she hissed, as if the question had been a physical blow. "That's a story. I guess that the long and the short of it is that I was only supposed to be here for a year, working through a grant while I completed an accelerated Master's program. Year one abroad, year two back home. However, once I got out here, the program ran out of grant money and their reapplication wasn't fulfilled. I had to drop out of the Master's program, so I still only have a Bachelor's. Luckily, I was able to get enough credit hours while I was in the program to apply to take the licensure test and passed that, but because I don't have the advanced degree, I'm only at the lowest level of licensure. The bigger problems were that without the grant money, I was on my own for all living expenses because my stipend was gone. And because I am only licensed at the lowest level, I get paid at the lowest level. I can't afford to move back home, and I can barely afford to live here. So I've been stuck here for almost three years."

"That's awful," he frowned. "I'm sorry, Harper."

"Definitely just another chapter in my book of bad luck," she shrugged. "I try not to dwell on it too much. That's a dark road I don't want to venture any further down."

"So you want to get back home, right?"

"I at least want the option to go home. I've enjoyed learning a new language, even if I suck at it, and living in a totally new, beautiful place. But I hate this feeling of being stuck. I can't go home, I can't get the oxygen I need for the cluster headaches, and I've had a hard time connecting with anyone on a deeper level. Aside from you, of course."

"Where else would you want to live, assuming you would have the means to get home and to get your oxygen?"

"Anywhere, honestly." She looked up at him then and asked, "What about you? Do you want to go home?"

"I'm not sure that home is still my home," he replied solemnly, looking unseeingly up the street.

"Then where do you want to go?"

Bright blue eyes roamed to the woman beside him. "I don't know where I want to end up, but for now, I'm okay here."

"That's significant," Harper nodded. "It's hard to be okay."

"It is," he agreed.

"Were you okay when you moved here, or have you arrived at a place of feeling okay?"

"It was a process."

"What about this city do you think has helped you be okay? Or was it the passage of time?"

"Time has helped," he nodded.

They had arrived at Harper's apartment building. Conversation paused as she fumbled for her key and clumsily let them into the building. Bucky led the way up the stairs, Harper following with an effortful trudge behind him. Finally, they reached her floor. The halls were still filled with the sounds of cheap passion, but Harper had no jokes this time. She pushed her key into the lock of her door, unlocking this one with a little more ease. Immediately upon opening the door, a ball of thick orange and white fur darted out between her legs.

On instinct, Bucky quickly scooped up the old cat, preventing his escape. Harper breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the animal. Bucky happily relieved himself of the creature he was still rather wary of. They entered her apartment, the young woman closing and locking the door behind her.

"Does he do that often?" Bucky asked.

"No, just when I've been gone a particularly long time. I was out running errands earlier today, plus all the time we were out to dinner and everything. He's rebelling against the neglect I have committed today."

"Ah."

"Hang on a minute; I just want to put on some comfier pants."

The former soldier watched as the dark haired woman shrugged out of her jacket, eyes tracing the hourglass curves of her waist appreciatively. He thought back to what she had confessed over dinner about her hang-ups on her body. He watched her retreat to her bedroom, closing the door partway. Bucky averted his eyes despite the temptation. His jacket was tossed over the back of the armchair before he settled in his usual perch on the couch.

"Want some water or anything?" Harper called, shuffling back out from her room. Bucky looked over his shoulder, noting her change in attire. She now wore a pair of black leggings and a loose-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt. All hints at her curvy torso were once again hidden, but he did let himself enjoy the view of her full thighs.

"Sure," he agreed absently. "Thank you."

Aslan slinked his way behind her as Harper moved into the kitchen. He heard her rummaging around, pouring a couple glasses of water and scooping some dry cat food into the old mammal's bowl. She returned to the living room and handed him a glass before settling in on the other end of the couch. Bucky was surprised when she extended her legs, resting them across his lap. He watched her raise her glass to her dark lips and had to wrench his eyes away.

"Tell me a few things about you," Harper requested, setting the glass down on the coffee table.

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"Doesn't have to be anything serious," she assured. "I don't want to sounds dramatic or whatever, but even though I feel like I know a lot about you, I don't know a lot about you. If that makes sense."

Begrudgingly, he admitted, "It does. I'm sorry that I'm not the most forthcoming."

"You don't have to be."

He looked up to her, surprised. His eyes locked with hers, seeing no sign of dishonesty or malicious feelings. She seemed to truly mean that he didn't need to tell her anything too serious or uncomfortable. The former assassin asked, "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Bother me?" she asked, eyes rolling up toward the ceiling in thought. "Sometimes, I suppose, it frustrates me that I don't get to see your whole picture. I'm a big picture person, because nothing happens in a vacuum. But most of the time, no, it doesn't bother me. Regardless of whatever you've done, whatever was done to you, you've been good to me. Good _for_ me."

"What if I've done some really awful things?" he asked, chest painfully tight.

"Nothing happens in a vacuum," she repeated, letting the implication of her words sink in.

"Does the big picture excuse the focal point?"

"Depends on what the big picture is," she answered. "And I don't like thinking in terms of excusing. That implies an erasure of something, or a justification. To me, there's a middle ground between being guilty and being excused."

"What middle ground is that?"

"Being forgiven."

Bucky's hands clenched and he had to look away. His stomach was in knots, and moisture was beginning to prick at his eyes. "Well, fuck, Harper."

"Sorry, too drunk for that right now. Ask me tomorrow once I'm sober."

He choked out a laugh and turned to look at her again. He placed his hand on her shin absently, wanting to touch her in some way. Despite the very recent upheaval in his feelings towards her and the way he saw her, she was grounding for him. He had resolved many months ago to allow himself to be James, to be someone Harper could consider a friend. But perhaps in actuality, she was slowly teaching him to accept himself.

"My favorite color is blue. I've always been a dog person. I used to be a serial dater, but that doesn't appeal to me anymore. In high school, I was an athlete and a really good student, but never had a talent for art." Seeing her confused expression, Bucky explained, "You wanted me to tell you about myself?"

"Oh! Yes," she nodded excitedly.

"Almost everyone I knew from the war is dead. I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to rekindle the friendship I had with my best friend, Steve, who was really more like a brother. I loved living in New York. I'm terrified of my own mind. I'm really grateful to have met you."

"Tell me about Steve," Harper implored, leaning into the back of the couch. She had the good grace not to acknowledge the harder admissions, for which he was grateful.

With a fond smile, Bucky gave her shin a light squeeze. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for the continued support. I'd love to hear your thoughts on things so far. Also, is this updating schedule alright? Part of me feels three chapters a week is a lot, but then I also think about how this story is done and pretty much edited already on my end, so there isn't much of a point in stretching things out. I don't know. I suppose I'm also wondering if more time between new chapters would yield more feedback. Thoughts?


	10. Chapter 10

"We were friends for a long time. Some kids jumped him, were trying to steal his lunch money, when we met. Steve was small, and had some health issues that kept him that way. I stood up for him, which became a pattern."

"Like a body guard," Harper chortled.

"Yeah, kinda," Bucky breathed a laugh. "We were fast friends, ended up being more like brothers. We were together almost all the time. When he'd stay over my house, we'd pull all the cushions off the couch and bring them to my room for him to sleep on. For a while, it seemed like the cushions were off the couch more often than they were on it. We went to Coney Island during the summers, trying to impress girls that we were never gonna see again, riding all the rides Steve's stomach had no chance at handling. We even went on a whole lotta double dates. Mostly 'cause Steve wouldn't go on any I didn't set up, but still."

"That sounds like the archetypal bromance," Harper grinned. "What happened that makes you think you can't be close like that again?"

"Well… then joining the army happened," he sighed. He debated leaving things there, but there were enough international tensions and military actions that had happened in recent years that she wouldn't find his story too suspicious. And telling her a bit more about himself could be done, depending on where he drew the line. She already knew of him as a combat vet, so why not expand on that? "I enlisted first. Steve tried to enlist, too, but his health was too poor. Honestly, I was thankful at the time. I couldn't imagine Steve, the guy who wouldn't back down from back alley bullies, on the other end of a gun from a real enemy.

"I went off to training, then was shipped off overseas. I eventually ended up a POW, Steve ended up enlisting and rising through the ranks. My unit was freed, Steve and I met again, and things were okay for a while. Well, as okay as they could be. But then we were sent on a covert mission. We were ambushed and I almost died. A lot happened after that. I'm not even remotely close to the person I used to be. I'm not the man he was best friends with anymore."

"And do you think he is?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you really think that Steve was unchanged by his own combat experiences?"

"I… maybe. He's still a good, selfless guy, always willing to fight the good fight. Even if he knows he'll lose, he'll fight for what he believes in."

"And are you not the same man who feels loyal and protective of those he cares for? Who is so hard on himself that he thinks he doesn't deserve the same loyalty, protection, and value that he places on others?" Harper asked. "Because to me, it sounds like your whole life you were the protector. The oldest sibling. The barrier between your best friend and his bullies. The soldier being shipped off, thankful that his best friend wouldn't be put in the danger he was about to face."

Bucky shook his head, hand unconsciously tightening on her shin again. He repeated, "I'm not like that anymore."

"Then why did you stay with me that first night you found out about my headaches? Why did you want so badly to defend my honor when that sleazebag down the hall wanted to pay to fuck me? Why did you just walk my drunk ass back home? Why are you still here with me now?"

The former assassin couldn't meet her gaze, having a difficult time processing her needling.

Harper continued, "James, the kinds of things you went through, the things you did, they are bound to change a person. But it doesn't sound to me like who you are at the very core has been altered. And I think that it's misguided if you truly believe that Steve is the exact same person he was when you guys were younger. You're probably just able to see that his fundamental self is still intact. The periphery is just that – periphery."

"You should be a shrink," he muttered, perturbed by her assessment. He didn't want to dare believe there could be truth to her words – that Hydra hadn't rotted him to the core, that he could still be a good man, that he stood a chance at rekindling his most treasured friendship – but he couldn't help it. A small part of him felt like maybe she could see things that he couldn't, that he had been trained not to see within himself.

"That was the goal," she laughed. "Glad to know you think I could do it. You wanna fund the road to get me there?"

"Wish I could," he said earnestly. "You deserve to be happy."

"So do you," she insisted. "But if I can't milk you for dollars, at least I'm happy here with you."

He grinned wryly. "Are you a closet masochist?"

Harper laughed again. "No, not at all. If I was, I'd deprive myself of your friendship."

Bucky suddenly noticed that he had at some point absently begun running his hand back and forth from her ankle to about mid-shin. His hand faltered before he continued the gesture. He would probably never really get to touch her. For tonight, he'd allow himself this. "I'm not sure about all the good things you said about me. But to answer your questions? About why I will always stand up for you, and about why I'm here now? You're important to me."

Heat colored her cheeks, but her voice was even as she replied, "You're important to me, too, and I want to protect you in any way I can."

* * *

A string of disgruntled meows and mewls retrieved Bucky from sleep. He opened his eyes blearily, groaning lightly at the sudden disruption to an otherwise decent sleep. Bucky lifted his hand to his eyes, rubbing the blurriness from his vision. His gaze moved downward and a smile turned his lips upward. He had fallen asleep sitting up, his torso leaning heavily into the corner of the couch. At some point, Harper had rotated her position. Her legs were no longer draped over his. Instead, she was deeply asleep against his side. He couldn't quite remember how that had happened, just that she had made the move as he was nodding off. He vaguely remembered worrying about her leaning into his metal arm, and had evidently quelled his worries by draping his arm around her shoulders. He found he liked her there; it felt good to know that gentle, kind Harper could be safely tucked beneath the arm he had never asked for, the arm which had been bathed in so much innocent blood. It suddenly occurred to him that so long as he retained his agency, the arm he loathed could be used as a means of protection.

Another distressed feline peal had Harper jolting awake. She looked in the direction of the noise before letting out a pained whimper. With annoyance, she moaned, "The fuck, Aslan?"

She let out a sigh and heaved herself up from the couch, heading toward the kitchen. Aslan darted after her, singing a symphony of excited meows. Bucky stood, stretching his stiff limbs and running his fingers through his hair. He followed Harper into the kitchen in time to see her place the old cat's refilled water bowl in front of the expectant creature.

"Morning," he greeted, suddenly feeling nervous. What if she remembered everything they had talked about and her sober mind wanted nothing to do with the broken POW who had no idea who he was or how to function?

"Good morning," she answered. "Sorry Drunk Me prevented you from sleeping in a comfortable position. And seriously, thanks for dealing with me last night."

"I slept fine and really had a good time," he said earnestly.

"I did, too," Harper replied with a smile.

"If you haven't had enough of me, did you want to grab some breakfast before going our separate ways?" asked Bucky, trying not to sound as timid as he felt. He wasn't quite ready to part with her yet, because when he did, he would have to face all of his realizations, and he wasn't ready for that. It would mean reconciling all of his mixed emotions and outlining his next steps. Whatever he decided, he wasn't sure if he was strong enough to pull away from her anymore. If it was for her safety or by her choice, he knew with certainty that he could and would do right by her. But for himself? He wasn't sure he could do that.

Harper gave an appreciative groan and immediately bee-lined toward her bedroom. "Hangover food! Yes, absolutely. Let me put on some jeans. Hope you don't mind going out with me looking like garbage."

"You always look nice," he found himself replying.

"Sure, sure, especially next to you, Mr. Tall-Muscular-Soldier-Man-With-Unnaturally-Beautiful-Eyes." She rolled her own eyes before disappearing behind her bedroom door.

_Could she… find me attractive?_ he wondered, taken aback. He shook off the thought for the moment, knowing he had way too much on his mind already without wondering if Harper thought he was good looking.

"Ready," Harper announced, reemerging from her room in a pair of dark jeans and a loose-fitting sweatshirt. "The usual place?"

"Please," he nodded.

With genuine excitement, she announced, "Let's get going, then! My thick ass needs some pancakes."

* * *

"Step one," Bucky read, "identify the decision to be made."

At the top of his sheet of notebook paper, he wrote, "What to do About My Feelings for Harper" then let out a frustrated groan. "I feel like a fucking idiot."

Shaking his head and resolving to trust the process, he read on, "Step two: gather relevant information."

He began meticulously mapping out what he knew to be true.

_ About Harper:_

_ Fun, intelligent, insightful_

_ Beautiful, attractive_

_ Innocent, but knows pain_

_ Strong, protective, supportive_

_ Amazing listener even though she hates to open up _

_ Self-sacrificing_

_ Loves her old, needy cat_

_ Deserves happiness_

_ Makes me feel comfortable and understood_

_ Maybe I can redeemed_

_ Makes me happy_

_ I might be falling in love with her_

He looked over his list, knowing he had far from encapsulated Harper, but satisfied that he got the major relevant points. "Step three: identify alternatives."

_ Alternatives:_

_ Ignore my feelings_

_ Confess my feelings_

_ End the friendship_

_ Leave Bucharest_

Bucky heaved a sigh. "Step four: weigh the evidence."

But what evidence was there? Harper had never talked about past relationships. If it wasn't for the stray comments she made about which characters she found attractive in movies, he wouldn't even know that she was attracted to men. He had no idea how she felt about dating in general, let alone how she would feel about dating him. What other evidence is there? That she would likely be hurt if he suddenly ended their friendship or just up and left the country? That much seemed obvious.

"Step five: choose among alternatives."

He could leave Bucharest, but that seemed extreme. He didn't want to cause Harper any pain, and that would be unavoidable if he uprooted himself and moved away without telling her. Besides, he had established something of a life in the city, and had grown comfortable. He had a taste of normalcy and he was loath to give it up unless he had to.

He could end their friendship, but again, he didn't want to hurt Harper. Plus, he really doubted he had the mental and emotional strength to deprive himself of the only aspect of his life that made him happy since waking up to his what was left of his arm being sawed off. Especially when he knew just how close by she always was.

He could confess his feelings for her. But what if she had no interest in him that way? It would ruin their friendship – the only friendship he had. Maybe she would be too creeped out to spend time together, and he'd end up on his own again. Alternately, maybe she would return his feelings. But then what? He would lie to her for the rest of their lives? Would he ever feel like he could tell her who he really was? Would she even believe him? But he would be happy with her, he was sure. He would retain all of the good parts of their friendship, and gain the ability to give and receive affection from her. He could touch her, love her, live that aspect of a normal life, regain the piece of himself which could truly love and appreciate a woman.

If he ignored things, then nothing would change. Things could go on as they had been, unless an unforeseen event was to force his hand. But maybe it would hurt, knowing his feelings would never be acted upon or that his desire to kiss and touch her would never be realized.

He was happy as things were, so why risk ruining anything? So maybe part of him would always hurt over what could be. What was a little more pain? He'd rather have Harper in his life in some capacity than to screw up and not have her at all.

"Step six: take action," he read. With a nod, he allowed, "Easy enough. Step seven: review the decision and its consequences. Well, that will remain to be seen."

* * *

Harper: James!

James: Harper!

Harper: I found a crazy cheap thermal shirt from a street vendor today. Hope you like red!

James: You got one for me?

Harper: They're all you seem to wear. Figured that while I had the opportunity, your collection could use expanding.

James: You didn't have to do that.

Harper: You don't like red, do you? :(

James: I've never thought about it.

Harper: Well, I think red will look good on you, so that's what you're getting. Hope it keeps that muscular bod warm! ;)

James: Thanks; that's thoughtful. I hate being cold.

Harper: Yeah, yeah, you stick in the mud that hates on winter.

James: I do hate it.

Harper: Well, winter is my favorite, and I won't be convinced of its negative attributes.

"Well, fuck," he breathed. If she knew the truth and what her words could imply, that sentiment would be invaluable.

James: I won't try to change that about you.

Harper: Sure, sure. I'll give you the shirt when I see you Saturday. The usual plans? If so, grilled cheese and homemade tomato soup for dinner?

James: You're seriously too good to me. I'll bring you some wine.

Harper: Oh, keep sweet talking me ;) No red, please!

James: I would never disgrace your wine sensibilities with a red.

Harper: Again with the sweet talk! Thanks so much! See you Saturday!

* * *

"What did you think?" Harper asked, sitting up straighter so she could stretch out her back.

"It was good," Bucky nodded. "I'm surprised you've never read the books if you've seen the movies, though. We can't talk about how they compare."

"I tried to read the books," she defended. "But I just couldn't get into them."

"But if you like the movies, wouldn't that be a motivator to persevere with the books?"

"I never said I liked the movies."

"Harper!" Bucky frowned. "I wouldn't have picked this if I had known you didn't even like it. Why didn't you say anything?"

"You're allowed your choices! I don't always get the final say," the young woman replied with a wave of her hand. More coyly, she added, "And I may have a bit of a thing for Legolas."

"So you sat through the last four hours because you find one character attractive?"

"Well, you're minimizing his good looks with your tone," she chuckled. "But no, that's not the entire reason. You were excited to watch this movie, and I enjoy spending time with you. This seemed like the logical outcome."

"You're too nice to me," Bucky grumbled, unable to meet her eyes anymore.

"Stop bringing me wine then," she teased.

Seeing an opening for a change in topics, he asked, "I've been wondering about that, actually. Should you drink as a cluster headache sufferer?"

Harper hummed for a moment before admitting, "Probably not. I don't drink during my cluster cycles, because then I get even more headaches. It's hard to say whether I'd have fewer cycles or not if I did refrain from drinking. But I will admit to using alcohol as something of a crutch. Not to a problematic point, but sometimes I need to forget about how my life is derailing from every plan I've ever made for myself, or about my job, or about my tough cases. Plus, Legolas is even better looking when I've been drinking."

"You don't talk about men much," he observed.

"You don't talk about women," she countered.

"I've mentioned that I used to be a very active dater," he argued. "You've never mentioned anything."

"There's not much to mention," she shrugged. "When I was nineteen, I met this guy who I became really close to. We texted and saw each other all the time. We were really, really close and I was totally falling for him. Then I got my first cluster headache, he took me to the ER, and when I came out of a hospital stay with the diagnosis, I was devastated. He didn't want to sign up for the train wreck of self-pity I'd become, and I don't blame him for that. I do blame him for dating one of my good friends immediately after breaking things off with me, though."

"He sounds like an asshole," Bucky offered. "You stick by the people you care about, even when times are tough."

"He didn't owe me anything like that," she shook her head.

"If he cared about you, he did owe you kindness."

Harper's lips twitched into a wry smile. "For someone constantly trying to convince me he's cruel and jaded, you really do stand on a high moral ground, James."

"Hush," he scolded weakly, bumping her shoulder with his.

"And you? Ever take the same girl on more than one date?"

"Yeah, I did," Bucky nodded. "It was just... life was more about fun. I wasn't into commitment or longevity."

"What do you think of those things now?"

The former assassin heaved a sigh, heavy with the weight of her question. "I think those would be a dream. But my life is too complicated, and I'm too screwed up."

"Feelings don't often heed those conditions."

"What do you mean?

"I mean just because you're recovering from all of the shit you've been through doesn't mean feelings can't be felt by or for you," Harper explained. "Don't count yourself out of the game if it's something you'd like. Life is too short and too painful for that."

_If only you knew…_

* * *

A/N: Thank you again for the reviews, favorites, follows, and views. For now, I'll keep going with the usual update schedule. I'd love to hear your feedback, though! Is Bucky in character? Is the pacing alright? Thoughts on Harper? Other? Regardless, I'm thankful for the continued support.


	11. Chapter 11

Harper: Quick! I need man advice!

James: Don't you have any girlfriends? I don't think I have anything to offer in that department.

Harper: No, I mean I need advice from a man! This guy from work, he works in the administrative department doing billing, just sent me a text and I think he's asking me out.

James: You think? How are you not sure?

Harper: Well, he's definitely inviting me somewhere, but I don't know if it's a date.

A screenshot of the text came through, and Bucky read it quickly.

James: Yeah, definitely asking you out.

Harper: How do I get out of this without being rude, but also without giving him any hope for a different result in the future?!

James: You really don't want to go out with him?

Harper: No, I don't. Analyze that later; I need to respond soon so it won't seem rude! And so he doesn't come to my desk for an answer in person!

James: Ask him if anyone else from the office is going. When he says no, it's seriously best to just kindly clarify that you aren't interested in him that way.

Harper: Fuckkkkkkk. Okay, thanks.

James: Let me know how it goes?

Harper: Sure thing.

A considerable amount of time passed without an update from Harper. He waited until well after he knew she would be home from work, giving her the benefit of assuming she had just been too busy to text him. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him. Harper hadn't ever told him about any male attention she received, other than from those who wanted to buy her time.

James: So?

Harper: The pity date has been declined.

James: What do you mean? Pity date?

Harper: He only asked cuz I'm the lonely foreigner. When I asked if anyone else was invited, he said it was just me, since I don't seem to have built many strong connections here.

James: I'm sorry, Harper. I don't understand why he didn't just invite you as a friend if that is the (misguided) way he feels.

Harper: Well, I asked because I was pissed. Turns out your social status skyrockets when you fuck an American girl. Ya know, since we're so wild and easy.

James: How did you get such a frank, disgusting answer out of him?

Harper: I think cuz he's just that much of an asshole.

James: You okay?

Harper: Peachy. But thank you for asking.

James: Try not to let one asshole get you too down.

Harper: I'm sick of being the foreigner who has no local friends, and the American piece of ass that's too fat to date but is good enough to want to sleep with, but only once. It's exhausting, and I miss my family and friends back home.

Bucky paused, chest tightening painfully. He couldn't stand how stuck Harper felt, or how unhappy she was with her body and the attention it got her. He wanted to give her a solution to her problems, but couldn't figure out a way to get her back home and on her desired career path without resorting to nefarious means. He wanted to tell her how physically attractive he found her, to assure her that he'd love her as many times as she allowed him to. But he had to be a friend.

James: Harper, you'll figure something out. This situation isn't forever. And there are most definitely men who would love more than a one night stand.

Harper: Thanks for trying to cheer me up. I really do appreciate it, even if my constant complaining doesn't show it.

James: You definitely don't complain constantly.

Harper: Thanks for saying so.

James: I don't feel right knowing you're feeling so down. Did you want to hang out?

Harper: Oof, sounds like another pity invite. I'm really okay, James.

James: If you're sure.

Harper: You'll be the first to know if I'm ever not okay. I know you have my back. You're good to me like that.

James: You reeled me in with how good you've always been to me.

Harper: Good night, ya charmer.

* * *

_ His body hit cold metal as he flattened himself against the train speeding along the snowy mountainside. Carefully, he pushed himself to his feet, keeping a wide, crouched stance for balance. He hurried after Steve, alert and observant of his surroundings, looking for any sign that their presence had been detected. Gabe took up the rear, gun already lifted into firing position._

_ Their comrade stayed atop the train, but he scaled down a ladder and threw himself inside the train behind Steve. His own gun was slung across his back, and he shifted it into his hands. There was a little bit of comfort to the weight in his palms. Steve led the way up the train, both on edge. Something wasn't right. There was nothing but cargo in sight, and not even much at that. _

_ Just as Steve stepped into the next train car, the door automatically snapped shut behind him. He whirled around, bright blue eyes finding armed enemies which had been silently approaching from behind. He lifted the gun and immediately began to fire, his back pressed against the door separating him from Steve. The attack forced the opposition to take a moment to dodge, which he capitalized on, throwing himself behind a row of shipping crates. Bullets hit the wall above his head, shrill and piercing in his ears. He set his jaw, and let his body move as it had been trained to do._

_ The soldier stood from behind the safety of his makeshift barrier, returning fire. He ducked back down again, then the pattern repeated. He noticed one of the enemies using his comrades' attacks as cover for advancement. He kept an eye trained on the approaching man, waiting until he was just in range before pulling out his pistol and firing at the advancing enemy. He propelled himself to the other wall, hoping his own fire would be cover enough to cross through the entirely open space between the cargo stacks._

_ All of the enemies were down except for the quickly approaching one. To his horror, he soon found himself out of ammunition. The opposition was still advancing, and he had no way of defending himself. Shaking the weapon fruitlessly, he thought briefly of the life back home he had wanted so badly to make a quick return to._

_ The door between train cars opened. He whipped his head around, relieved to see Steve standing victorious from the battle he had just faced. His friend tossed him a gun before hurling himself through the door, shield first. Using all of his super strength and bracing himself against his weapon, Steve launched himself into the shipping crates, driving the heavy units straight into the closest oncoming enemy. The impact dropped his weapons from his hands and the soldier made one well place shot, killing the enemy._

_ "I had him on the ropes," he asserted._

_ "I know," Steve assured._

_ The whirring of a charging weapon came from behind them. The pair turned, seeing a man in a massive armored suit behind them, guns glowing with vibrant blue energy._

_ "Get down!" Steve shouted, pushing the soldier behind him and his shield. The shot rebounded off the vibranium, hitting the wall of the train with an explosion of heat, blowing a hole through the metal. _

_ The soldier shook off the shockwave from the explosion, quickly noting Steve was down for the moment. He scrambled for the shield, covering himself and aiming his gun around its protection at the new foe. The enemy's gun recharged much quicker than he expected, firing another orb of bright energy straight at him. The shot made contact with the shield, the force of it throwing the soldier backwards. His gun flew from his hand and he was suddenly soaring through freezing cold air. His hands scrambled, looking for purchase on anything they could find. He grabbed a safety rail dangling from the side of the speeding locomotive, his grip like a vice._

_ "Bucky!" Steve shouted, panic in his voice._

_ The red, white, and blue clad soldier appeared, hoisting himself out of the blown apart train car. He used the neighboring rail to quickly climb his way toward the soldier. Heart pounding so hard he could hear almost nothing else, adrenaline rushing, numb to everything except for the feeling of his grip loosening on the rail as the train continued to speed through the snowstorm, the soldier desperately tried to hang on._

_ The rail shifted and creaked, beginning to break from its place. Steve hurried, extending his hand as far as he could reach._

_ "Hang on!" Steve shouted above the din of the wheels on the track and the rushing wind. "Grab my hand!"_

_ His body shook, at the mercy of the rail that was continuing to shift._

_ "No!" he heard as the rail broke completely._

_ A primal scream tore at his throat. His body free fell through the bitter air, twisting and turning at the mercy of the wind. The world flew past, a blur of ghostly white and dark green pine. He registered almost nothing other than the greatest fear he had ever experienced and the knowledge that he was about to die. His body flipped backwards, and excruciating pain exploded in his arm and shoulder. His throat burned. He wasn't even sure if he was still screaming. _

Bucky shot up in bed, breathing heavily and covered in sweat. His entire body was shaking uncontrollably, his stomach was in knots, and bile burned the back of his throat, threatening to make an escape. The fear that he had first experienced gripped him again. His heart was still racing, and he suddenly couldn't stand being still.

The former soldier stood quickly, pacing and anxiously rubbing at his metal arm. The phantom pain of his arm clipping the jagged cliff side and being shorn from his body burned him. Frantic blue eyes darted to his clock, noting that it was 12:53am. Going to bed early clearly hadn't worked out well.

He paced and paced and paced. Fifteen minutes passed and he didn't feel any better. He suddenly needed the comfort and stability only Harper had been able to provide him since being released from the Winter Soldier. Shaking hands found his phone and clumsily typed out a message.

James: Are you up?

Harper: I am. What's going on? Are you okay?

James: I had a nightmare. A flashback.

Harper: Text me your address.

James: I just wanted to talk.

Harper: Seriously, text me your address. We'll talk in person.

James: Not safe to walk here on your own.

Harper: I'm already out. Text me your address.

He gave in, his resolve totally shaken from him. Again, his body propelled into motion, pacing the living room. He wasn't sure how much time had gone by when there was a soft knock on his door. He pulled it open, stepping aside to allow Harper entry. He said nothing, and she simply muttered a soft greeting. Blue eyes followed her as she moved to sit on the old couch near his bed.

"James," she implored gently, patting the seat next to her.

He sat, still fidgeting and trying to get his heart and his mind to slow down. With anger he didn't mean, he demanded, "Why were you out so late?"

"I got my period and needed tampons," she answered, unfazed by his snappiness. "Couldn't wait until the morning. Now, point me toward your bathroom, and while I'm gone, set your kettle to heat up."

He jabbed his index finger in the direction she needed then mechanically stood and made his way into the kitchen. Harper disappeared into the bathroom, emerging only a few minutes later. From the small paper bag she had brought in with her, she pulled a box of tea.

"Go sit," she said, opening up the box.

He obeyed, feeling some sick comfort in the familiar feeling of doing as he was told and allowing that numbness to set in. The dark haired man watched the younger woman locate two mugs from his sparse collection of eatery and set them up with steeping tea bags. His eyes traced her form, at times mesmerized by the simple, steady motions of her hands, and at times pupils blown wide at the thought of his mind drifting to nothingness as he chased his release inside her.

Her return to the couch brought him more fully into the present. He accepted the mug, but merely rested it against his knee.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked evenly.

"I flashed back to the ambush."

Harper nodded, recalling his mention of the event.

He swallowed thickly and expanded, "We were ambushed on a train. It was winter. Killed some people. But then an explosion knocked out the side of the train car and I got my ass throw out of it. I hung on as long as I could. Steve was trying to get to me. But it was so cold, and we were going so fast. I wasn't strong enough to hold on against the wind, and the rail I was holding broke off anyway. I fell for so long. My arm… Oh _fuck!_" he hissed, realizing for the first time that he was clad only in sweatpants and a loose sleeveless shirt. His eyes darted around, searching for anything to throw on to cover up the monstrosity that was a part of him.

A light touch at his knee froze him. Harper's hand gave a brief, comforting squeeze. Gently, she reasoned, "James, surely you don't think me fool enough to have not put it together that you have some sort of prosthetic? You don't need to hide from me."

"I _hate_ this arm," he spat, glaring at the unwanted extremity that had taken so many lives. "I never wanted you to see it."

"I've touched it. You've touched me. Surely seeing it isn't more egregious?" He didn't answer, emotions a jumbled mess and his mind and heart still racing. Harper continued, "Can I touch you now?"

Blue eyes met bright brown. Her gaze was unwavering and so heartbreakingly concerned for him he couldn't stand it. He broke eye contact and gave a short nod. Slowly, Harper reached out toward him, her skin gently skimming the surface of the metal limb. Her fingertips trailed down his forearm before lacing through his own synthetic digits. He didn't return the gesture, but she held on nonetheless. Her warmth against his cool offered more comfort than he wanted to acknowledge.

"I'm sorry that you're feeling so much pain," she muttered. Her other hand slowly rose, catching a few stray tears on his cheeks. "And while I wish you didn't have to endure it, I'm grateful you survived and are here, feeling it, with me today."

His metal palm tightened sharply on her hand as a jolt of tight emotion shot through his chest. Harper didn't acknowledge his tight hold, and merely continued, "Drink your tea."

"What about Aslan?" he asked.

"I'll head back home first thing in the morning. He won't be alone any longer than he would be if I was at work right now.

"Thank you," he muttered, eyes finally falling closed and his body slumping with exhaustion.

"I've got your back," she promised.

"Thank you," he muttered. He obliged her and took a sip of tea, before setting it down on the floor. Harper sipped at hers before setting it down at her feet as well. Her hand never left his, and with the tea placed aside, she moved to sit beside him on the couch. She folded her legs beneath her and pulled their clasped hands into her lap.

"This okay?" she asked, squeezing his hand again.

"Yeah," he nodded stiffly.

"Can you feel my hand?"

"In a way," he replied. "I don't know how to describe it. I feel pressure and temperature, and I can feel pain, but I can't feel your skin the same way I could with my other hand."

"Give me the other one, too, then."

He reached out with his flesh hand. Harper took it with one of hers, running her thumb across the hills and valleys of his knuckles. Her other hand clasped his mechanical one a little tighter. He felt suddenly a little overwhelmed by her kindness and consideration; the fact that she was providing comfort to each hand in a way he could actually feel was almost too much.

"I'm sorry I freaked out and dragged you into my craziness," he muttered.

"James, I'm seriously here for you. I care about you, and we have a responsibility to the people we care about."

He chuckled dryly. "Using my words against me?"

"Absolutely," she nodded easily. "You've helped me shoulder my chronic pain and my recent resurgence of depressed moods. I'm here to help you shoulder your pain and your traumas. I may not be great at it, and may not always say or do the right things, but I want to support you as well as I can. I don't like to see you hurting, especially when you're hurting in silence."

Bucky felt a few more tears leak from his eyes. Exhaustion weighed on him. He was always a bit tired from lack of sleep, but this ran so much deeper. He was exhausted to his core. Years spent on the battlefields of the Second World War, being experimented on against his will, falling from the mountainside train, Hydra scientists sawing off the remnants of his arm, his brain being scrambled, cryo, innocent blood… it was all too much.

The former assassin leaned forward, resting his head on Harper's shoulder as he settled to lean against her side. His hands remained in hers. She said nothing more and neither did he. He was guilty of many, many things, and he still wasn't sure who he was now that he wasn't a playboy, a soldier, or an assassin, but he did know that Harper accepted him. Maybe that was all he was looking for.

* * *

A/N: So many thanks for the continued support. I'd love to keep hearing your thoughts as our duo grows closer. Also, just want to throw it out there that I don't know that the details of how Bucky's arm works are ever really confirmed, so all mentions of this are purely how I imagine it.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky awoke to an odd feeling – one that was familiar, but which he hadn't experienced in a long time. It took his sleep addled brain a moment to realize that it felt like he was sleeping next to a warm body because he _was_ sleeping next to a warm body. His eyes opened in surprise and found a mass of dark hair beneath his chin. The former soldier slowly realized that he and Harper must have fallen asleep at some point. It was probably a natural shift in position, especially for her, as the spot he last remembered being in consisted of them sitting in the center of the couch with her supporting his much bulkier frame. They each lay on their side now, bodies flush together. Both of his arms were wound securely around her waist, holding her tight to him in the small space they shared.

He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, hearing that her breaths were still slow and even with sleep, and buried his nose in her hair. The dark locks were soft against his skin, and offered him the chance to appreciate the way she smelled. It wasn't something that he had ever really concerned himself with when he had dated in the past. Of course, there was something tantalizing about the different perfumes a woman would wear, and it was satisfying to wake in a bed that smelled of a perfume well worn into the sheets, but what lay beneath the artificial scents was never really noteworthy. When he became the Winter Soldier, all of his senses were heightened. His improved sense of smell was honed through training, and put to use on many missions. Now he used it to commit to memory the very mild, soothing smell of Harper's hair.

Thoughts of the night before began to trickle back into his consciousness. He was mildly embarrassed at the display of emotion he had allowed Harper to see, but was grateful she had taken it all in stride. One of the constants between them was that she always somehow knew what to do with him. She offered a quiet strength, a subtle comfort that had always touched him deeply. She didn't ever come off as coddling or overly sympathetic. He would certainly dwell on the warm pressure of her hand holding his metal one for a while, and would long for the rhythmic stroking of his knuckles, too.

The feeling of longing brought him back to when she was making tea, shame instantly twisting his chest. He remembered feeling an overload of emotions, but also numbness, which allowed him to drift into a dark place in his mind. He remembered that place tempting him to turn himself over fully to the numbness of lust, to use her to sate his needs and to provide his mind with reprieve. Bucky felt disgusting. Harper wasn't a tool, especially not a physical one, and he was ashamed to have thought of her that way, even if only briefly. His arms tightened around her, and he pressed his face more deeply into her hair.

It was probably another half hour before he heard the change in Harper's breathing, indicating her release from sleep. She shifted against him and a tiny groan signaled her last desperate attempt to prevent herself from waking. He felt her take a deep breath before she was still again. For a moment, they just laid there. He wondered if she knew he was awake, if she thought him creepy for just holding her while she slept.

A hand found the skin of his forearm, fingertips skimming lightly before she gently shook him. "James?"

Bucky hummed, confirming he had heard her.

"Good morning," she greeted.

"Good morning."

"How're you?"

He snorted a short chuckle. "Pretty good. Are you ignoring the position we're in by engaging in totally normal conversation?"

"Enjoying it, honestly. Prolonging it with small talk."

The former soldier was taken aback. "Really?"

She hummed her affirmation this time, offering nothing more. He had no idea what to make of that, and settled for tilting his head upward slightly, allowing her head to tuck beneath his chin again. Comfortable silence fell over them, and her fingertips traced feather-light, nonsensical patterns on his skin. Bucky wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, but was sure he could have continued on for a long time. All things must end, though, and his simple happiness embracing Harper was no exception.

"I should get home to Aslan," she muttered.

"Okay," he agreed. It took another beat for his body to agree, but then his arms retreated from around her. She sat up carefully, conscious of their close proximity, before standing. Turning to him, the young woman offered him a hand. He took it, not for needing help, but entirely for the chance to touch her again. She pulled him into a seated position and they paused for a brief moment before dropping their hands. Bucky wondered if something had changed between them, or if he was projecting his feelings onto her.

Clearing his throat gruffly, he said, "Thank you again, Harper. I hope I wasn't too burdensome."

"Never," she promised, shaking her head.

"Want me to walk you home?"

"I'm okay," she assured. "The sun's out now. I'd rather you take a long, hot shower and get yourself some breakfast. Take care of yourself a little, okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Will I still be seeing you tonight? If you're feeling up to it?" she asked, and he noted some apprehension in her voice, almost as if she was bracing herself for a rejection.

"As long as you'll still have me."

A smile turned her lips. "Of course I will. It is Saturday, after all."

* * *

Things with Harper had remained mostly the same as ever in the weeks following her night on his couch. The only change seemed to be that the invisible barrier that largely kept them apart physically had rather disappeared. They sat closer together on the couch, walked closer together on the street, and she had allowed her head to fall on his shoulder toward the end of several movies. He enjoyed this closeness; it had been a long time since he had engaged with any sort of wholesome, comforting contact, and he had never been so close with a woman before. Sure he had been physical with women, but there was something much more intimate about the way it felt to touch Harper. Perhaps because he had never really found himself to be emotionally close to a woman before her.

Harper: You home?

James: Just leaving the docks, so I should be soon. Why?

Harper: I'm coming over to hang up some curtains.

James: What're you talking about?

Harper: You need curtains.

He flushed, realizing that she was referring to his newspaper covered windows. Curtains had seemed frivolous, and blinds were too expensive, but when he moved into the apartment, he had to find a way to stay hidden. A few stolen newspapers had done the trick.

James: You didn't need to do that.

Harper: Are you mad?

James: No, not at all.

Harper: Then don't worry about it.

_Fuck, Harper. You could write a book on how to make me fall for you._

* * *

There was something really satisfying about opening up a new journal. The spine was stiff, the pages crisp and clean. The last moments of the book being pristine before he poured memories swathed in blood and tears into it. But this journal was going to be different. Or at least, it would, if he could get up the courage to start it.

He had a backpack half full of notebooks containing all of his memories up until fleeing to Bucharest. His childhood, Steve, the war, the experiments, seven decades of cryo and murder, waking up to realize that everything he knew had changed, almost everyone he knew was dead, that he had been forged into the perfect mindless weapon and could be turned back by anyone who knew his code. He didn't want to forget any of this; he didn't know who he had become, but everyone he had been was captured in his journals.

He had decided months ago that he needed to ensure he would remember Harper. But actually putting pen to paper, to write out their story, was the hardest yet. The horrors, the gore had spilled from the pen, his nightmares pouring from him in droves of blood and fear. It was all visceral, factual. His slow progression from wariness, to companionship, to trust, to true feelings for Harper was, in a lot of ways, more muddled and amorphous, and certainly more intimate to have to put into words.

The tip of his pen touched the paper and began to map out the first time he met her. As hard as it would be, he wouldn't forget.

* * *

James: How much does Aslan weigh?

Harper: Like… 22 pounds? Why?

The former soldier kept her waiting, using the information she had just supplied to inform his purchase. As he walked away from the vendor, he pulled his phone out again.

James: You'll see tomorrow when we meet for coffee and tea.

Harper: You tease!

James: Guilty.

Harper: You're so mean :'(

James: Only to you.

Harper: You wound me.

James: Come on, doll, you'll be fine.

Harper: Only if the anticipation doesn't kill me!

James: See you tomorrow.

* * *

"Is there ever a pause in the business down the hall?"

"I think business is pretty nonexistent during the day," Harper answered. "But I'm not positive, since I'm rarely here during that time."

"Doesn't it bother you?" Bucky asked, following Harper to the couch and setting the bag of takeout on the coffee table.

"It did for quite a while after moving in. Now, most of the time, I don't even really notice it. Like traffic in a big city, ya know? But it does provide an occasional laugh. I wonder if men really fall for the over the top fake orgasms I sometimes hear. Like for real, do y'all not see through that shit?" Harper laughed.

"I don't know," Bucky shrugged. "I don't think I've ever seen a fake one."

"Mhmm, so you do all fall for it," she smirked, reaching for the brown paper bag.

"How d'you figure?"

Harper reached over and patted his knee sympathetically. "Look up the stats m'dear."

"What you're implying is… troubling."

"I'm sure you're just lovely," she reassured with a snicker. "But there's always room for improvement. In the meantime, don't worry; most ladies have it pretty well figured out for themselves."

Bucky cleared his throat, trying not to dwell on her continued implications. He had a feeling this most recent sentiment would be fuel for later lustful musings. Thoughts about what the lady beside him might have already figured out were already threatening to form.

"Do you want dibs on the chicken thighs?" he asked, watching her unpack the takeout as if she hadn't just detonated a sex bomb. "You don't really care for many other meats, right?"

"You're delightfully observant," she complimented. "If you don't mind, the chicken thigh and maybe one sausage would be perfect for me on the meat front."

"I don't mind," he agreed. "Want me to get some plates?"

"Yeah, that'd be good," she nodded. "Easier to share. Aslan! Get off the table!"

Bucky couldn't help but smile as she began shooing away the fluffy orange carnivore that had invited himself to dinner. The former soldier moved to the kitchen to retrieve plates and silverware. He returned to see a mouth-watering spread of chicken, sausage, pork, cheese croquettes, pickles, bread rolls, mustards and garlic sauce. "Shit, this looks amazing."

"There is something sinfully delicious about there being no greenery in sight."

"Pickles are green," he argued, sitting down and passing her a plate.

"Don't be an ass," she warned without malice.

Bucky placed the largest chicken thigh on her plate along with a sausage before beginning to load up his own with pork and sausage. Once they had taken their fill of food, Harper set the movie they had queued up to play. Blue eyes glanced sideways. Things were so comfortable and easy with Harper. He couldn't help but think he could see himself with her in a very long-term way.

* * *

_She's like no other woman I've known. Before enlisting, the women I dated were beautiful, sweet, and docile. Harper is intelligent, strong, crude, beautiful… completely different. Maybe that's why I've felt things with her I was never able to with any other dame. _

_ I'd always had vague images of my future before enlisting. The stereotypical life as a working man with a beautiful wife back home raising our children. She would wear pretty dresses that accentuated her curves, but it would never be too much. We would be comfortable and happy, raise our brood of kids, then grow old and die. I was sure that was to be my future and, though simple, that it would be enough._

_ Now, I have no idea what my future realistically holds. But I recently realized that a new vision has begun to take shape. I can now see years down the road, swapping playful banter with Harper, or talking about the latest books we've read. I'm not sure if children are part of my new ideal future, but I can see getting married to Harper in a simple ceremony. I don't think she would like all the attention of a full-blown, traditional wedding. And then nothing would change. She would remain as one of the closest friends I've ever had; we would be happy and comfortable together. She would continue with her education and obtain the licensure she needs to achieve her career goals. We'd both work during the day then come together at night. She'd lean against me, hold the metal arm I perhaps will come to hate a little less, and I'd get to smell her hair. We would watch an episode or two of our current favorite television show, then retire to our bedroom. She wouldn't be the homemaking, child-rearing wife wearing prim dresses. She would be the beautiful professional woman whose soft, relaxed side only comes out at home, where she feels most comfortable. And I would be happy._

_ Part of me feels crazy. Well, I suppose in a lot of other ways, I am. Regardless, it's almost insane to be able to see her as my wife when I've never even kissed her. But love was never really part of my initial plans for the future. The goal has always been to be comfortable and happy. With Harper, I certainly already feel that. And this is the closest I think I've ever felt to love for a woman. I know I decided to remain as just friends with her, and I will absolutely maintain that. But I am also going to milk the closeness I feel with her for as long as I can._

Bucky put his pen down, allowing a half minute for the ink to dry before closing the journal. He didn't feel much better after this latest entry, but he was satisfied that he had captured his most recent feelings on paper. Steve had always had a penchant for the strong-willed dames, and Bucky had never quite understood that. He liked the sweet, passive ones who awed at his good-looks and talents. But he truly wasn't that person anymore, and now could completely see Steve's point of view. A strong woman helped you shoulder your burdens, but was also able to push you in the ways you needed. They put a halt to your downward spiraling and thrust you back upward. They pushed you to be better, to be respectful, to be what they deserved. And they deserved a lot.

* * *

Harper: Have you seen the news?!

James: No, what's up?

Harper: You have to see it yourself. This is absolutely fucking insane. I'm freaking out.

Bucky put down his book and reached for the television remote. Breaking news blared from every channel. Blue eyes widened, taking in the insanity on the screen. Live from nearby Sokovia, footage was capturing something that looked more like a sci-fi horror film than reality. An army of robots was wreaking havoc on the capital city. Civilians were running in panicked droves. A group of ragtag, enhanced people seemed to be trying to keep the mechanical creatures at bay. Seeing a particular fighter dressed in red, white, and blue, his breath caught in his throat.

Harper: Are you watching?!

James: I am.

Harper: That's way too close to here. I'm seriously freaking out.

James: I'll be over soon.

Harper: Thank you. Seriously.

Bucky had no qualms about fulfilling her unspoken request. In part because he didn't much care for the thought of her alone and anxiety ridden, but mostly because she was right – this was all happening way too close to home. If there were more of those robot creatures running around, it wouldn't be a stretch for them to spread out to nearby countries. Who knew if they were maybe even on their way to neighboring capitals such as Bucharest? In the event that such dangers did spread, he would make sure no harm befell the young woman he had come to care for.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for the continued support. Apologies that this update is coming a bit late! I hope that it does seem like we're making progress and moving forward in the timeline by this point. If you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	13. Chapter 13

"Holy shit, James," Harper breathed, closing the door behind him.

"Harper, it's okay," Bucky tried to reassure. "As far as we know, this is all confined to Sokovia. For now, we should assume Bucharest is safe."

"Well, the whole fucking city is flying. C'mon," she urged, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the couch.

"Holy shit," he echoed numbly. On the television, the news coverage had gotten even more unbelievable. Novi Grad, capital of Sokovia, now stood as a massive floating island, drifting continually upward.

"They're saying if the city drops, we're talking some kind of extinction event. I'm talking like dinosaurs and shit," she gabbed, her anxiety clearly manifesting as word vomit. A couple tears fell from her eyes. "And even if it drops soon and the effects aren't worldwide, we're in the splash zone. Remember when I said I was freaking out? Well that doesn't hold a candle to my current level of freaking out."

"What of the people fighting?"

"Well, they're the goddamned Avengers, so you know this shit is serious," she sniffled. "The cameras haven't been able to follow their progress since the city fucking jetted into the sky. There are some crews on the ground and it looks like there's a big aircraft of some kind working evacuation, but…"

Bucky's stomach churned with concern. He had complete faith in Steve's abilities, even if he couldn't see how his friend could stop a city-turned-meteor. After all, Steve and his comrades had stopped an alien invasion just a few years prior. He was confident they would succeed again. What was more worrisome was the unknown price of that victory. Bucky knew Steve would always trade his life for another's, and this was potentially millions of others.

The former soldier gently wrapped his arm around Harper's shoulders, tucking her into his side. His hand passed up and down her upper arm comfortingly as he muttered reassurances. His gloved hand brushed a stray tear from the cheek nearest him.

"I want to tell you something, just in case we do end up like the dinosaurs," she said seriously, turning to look at him. "But you need to understand that this hasn't developed in the past half hour; this is something I had already been considering telling you. And if we don't end up like dinosaurs, and this changes how you think of me, I can accept that. I just don't want to possibly die with this unsaid."

"What is it, Harper?" he asked, brows knit with concern.

She pulled away, and he let his arm drop. A shaky breath parted her lips. Firmly, she managed, "I am so genuinely thankful that I've gotten to know you. You saved my cat, you became a friendly face in a city of intimidating locals, you became the closest friend and confidant I've had in years, you gave me so many reasons to smile and just keeping trudging through with the hope that things will get better, and somewhere along the way, I developed feelings for you. I was really fucked up after my last and only non-relationship, I didn't let myself feel that way about anyone for years. But I couldn't help but fall for you. And I get it if this ruins our friendship, but I needed to say this, to put it out there just how much you mean to me, how much you've helped me and healed me. I'm probably not even articulating this well, I just… possible end of life panic, ya know? And-"

"Harper," Bucky interrupted gently. With a soft smile, he urged, "Breathe."

She nodded vigorously before heaving a sigh through her nose. The young brunette began to fidget slightly, and Bucky couldn't help but find her nervousness endearing. Turning more serious, he confessed, "I don't think I deserve you. Especially not in a romantic capacity. You're so good, so strong, so innocent in a way I haven't been in a long, long time. I feel like I stain whatever I touch with the blood on my hands, and I don't want to stain you. And I feel like I've been selfish for allowing myself your closeness, for leaning into your support, and for falling for you."

Her cheeks flushed brightly, and he admired the pretty hue before continuing, "I'm a man who has done terrible, terrible things. I can't guarantee what the future holds, because if those things ever catch up to me, I will run, cut all ties here, to ensure you are not touched by my karma. But I am also selfish, and knowing how you feel, I don't think I could ever turn you away."

"Assuming we aren't squashed like dinosaurs, I hope you don't turn me away. An uncertain future isn't new to me, and it's no longer going to stop me from living in the present."

Bucky reached for her, cupping her cheek in his hand. His thumb brushed across her flushed skin, passing over the cute pink reverently. Meeting her bright brown eyes, he asked, "Can I kiss you?"

She chuckled and a grin turned her lips. "Definitely."

He leaned in, body tight with anticipation. With his hand still at her cheek, he gingerly angled her lips to meet his. It was a kiss unlike any other he had ever experienced. It was chaste, and sweet, but sent a swarm of elated butterflies loose in his stomach. His heart was pounding, and his chest tightened painfully with an emotion he couldn't name when her lips quivered beneath his. Her hand found his flesh forearm, squeezing lightly. He pulled away slightly before brushing his lips across hers. She leaned forward, reconnecting their lips in an equally blissful, innocent caress.

Bucky leaned back, gazing down at the young woman fondly. He tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind her ear before reaching to entwine their fingers. Bright brown eyes glanced at the television screen, before she met his gaze again. A smile formed on her lips. "Looks like we're not going to wind up like the dinosaurs."

* * *

_Maybe I should have turned her down. But then again, I've been telling myself different iterations of this since I met her. Maybe I should run again, nip my feelings in the bud before they affect her. Maybe I should draw the line at just acquaintances. Maybe I should stop going to the coffee shop she frequents so that we never come in contact again. Maybe I should run and leave this odd, crying woman here alone to avoid making any civilian connections. I didn't heed any of my other maybes, and couldn't find it in myself to heed this one, either._

_ Ultimately, I told her the truth. I know I don't deserve her, but I've become disgustingly selfish where she's concerned. She's the brightest part of my life, and I don't want that to change. I want to continue to enjoy her company, her intellect, her knowledge of pain. I want to taste her, hold her, love her. If only a little, I think I can continue to redeem myself through her, with her support. Surely, a monster couldn't keep her company? Surely something meant only for murder couldn't touch her without causing harm? She isn't afraid of my arm, she isn't afraid of me, even after seeing me come undone by a flashback. I still may never tell her about my past. But I don't think she cares. She has feelings for James, and that's who I've become since moving here. If James is who she wants, James is who I'll continue to be. I've remade myself before, and I've been doing it again. This time, I think I might actually succeed._

Bucky closed his journal and capped his pen. This really was his happiest notebook yet.

* * *

"Have you been reading the papers?" Harper asked without looking up from her laptop.

Bucky set down his maple brew and his book. "Skimming. You've provided me with another interesting read which has admittedly been monopolizing my free time."

"There's a lot of controversy brewing about the Avengers," she explained.

"Really?" he asked, genuinely surprised. It had been about a month since the events in Sokovia. Summer was at its peak, and things seemed to be settling down after the terrifying incident with the entity now known as Ultron. "How so?"

"Most people are grateful for them saving so many people again, but there's a pretty vocal subset that blames them for a lot of other deaths. They're saying they dropped alien carcasses on New Yorkers and meteor fragments on the Sokovian countryside. People are also angry that they seem to disappear right after the fight, leaving the mess and tending to the dead to the disenfranchised, traumatized locals."

"That's naïve," he frowned. "In any battle, any war, there's no way to completely prevent the loss of innocent life. They saved humanity from the very real possibility of extinction."

"I agree," she nodded, taking a sip from her tea. "And honestly, after fighting aliens and robots and shit on such a massive scale, I hope they all went home and slept for days. It seems like allied governments and worldwide health and relief organizations should fill in any gaps they leave after waging such battles."

"Why haven't they done more of that?"

"Call me cynical, but it's easier to scapegoat a group of people who rarely come out into the public eye than to shell out that kind of money and man power," Harper sighed. She closed her laptop and lifted her cup to her lips, draining it. "I can't stay for lunch today. I had to push an appointment up to accommodate a last minute, mandatory meeting back at the office."

"Make sure you eat something along the way," he advised with concern.

"Don't worry," she admonished with a smile. He watched her pack her things quickly into her bag before standing. "See you Saturday?"

"Of course," he nodded. "Have a good day."

"You, too," Harper replied, leaning down to place a quick peck on his lips. Bucky couldn't help but smile, watching her rush out the door.

* * *

"Hey, doll," Bucky greeted, pressing a brief kiss to Harper's lips as she passed through the door.

"Hey," she greeted with a smile. Gesturing at the canvas bag on her shoulder, she informed, "I come bearing dessert since it's so late."

"I was admittedly surprised when you said you were in the neighborhood," he replied, closing the door and locking it. "What has you out and about still?"

"It's not so much 'still' as it is 'again,'" she sighed, falling onto the couch. "I got a call from my insurance company today. I've been fighting them to get at least partial coverage of oxygen treatments for the cluster headaches through a provider here pretty much for the past year, and they basically told me today that they're still not going to approve any sort of coverage for it, and that I've exhausted the appeals process at this point. So I called my dad, pretty upset, and I know he was trying to make me feel better about it, but he just pissed me off by trying to give me advice. Turning off all the lights and getting noise cancelling headphones won't help. I don't have migraines; this is a whole other breed of headache and pain. I kinda blew up at him, and decided to go on a walk to blow off steam. The more I cooled down, the more like shit I felt, because I'm mad at the insurance company, and took it out on him. Then I noticed I had found myself by the river and figured you always make me feel better and here I am. Intruding on your Tuesday night."

"You're not intruding," he assured. "Just call your dad back and apologize. I'm sure he'll understand."

"Easier said than done," she groaned, drawing her knees to her chest.

Bucky watched her fiddle with the phone in her hand and sat down beside her. "Harper, you won't even have to talk long. He knows it's late here. But you'll feel a lot better once you've done it."

"I know," she sighed. She lifted her phone, thumb skimming over the screen, before balancing it on her knee. The sound of the other line ringing echoed through the device's speakers.

"Hello?" asked a man's voice.

"Hi, dad," Harper greeted in a tone that spoke of her trepidation.

"Hi, Harper," her father replied. "How're you doing?"

"I'm a little better now," she answered. "Listen, I just wanted to apologize. I know you were trying to help earlier."

"It's okay. Your mother pointed out that I wasn't tactful, per usual, so I'm sorry, too."

"You really don't have to be," she assured.

"Well, do you want me to try calling those idiots to see if I can make them budge on anything?"

"They made it pretty abundantly clear that they aren't willing to move on this."

"That's what they all say. You know I'm pretty persuasive."

"Yeah, I know," Harper chuckled lightly. "But this time I don't think even you could get your way."

"Well, let me know if you do want me to try," her father offered.

"I will. Thank you."

"Now get to bed; you have work in the morning," he teased.

"Sure, dad," she smiled. "Talk to you later. Love you."

"Love you, too. Bye."

Harper ended the call and tossed her phone to the side. "Well, that went way better than expected."

"Feel better?" Bucky asked.

"I won't stroke your ego by admitting you were right," the brunette laughed. She leaned down to reach into her bag and extracted a sizable brownie. She offered it to him, saying, "For putting up with me."

The former soldier scoffed. "There's nothing to put up with. I do rather enjoy your company."

"Well, all the same. What were you up to before I crashed your evening?"

"Journaling," he answered, peeling back the plastic wrapping from the rich, fudgy confection. He broke it in half and offered her a piece. Harper accepted the half, separating it in half again, before handing him back a piece. She took a bite from her quarter and hummed her approval.

"I hope you got to a good stopping point before I interrupted, then."

"Yeah," he nodded, taking a large bite of the piece of brownie she had returned to him. "This is really fucking good."

"It is," she agreed. "I got it from a convenience store, so I'm pretty surprised."

"Yeah, I guess nowhere else must be open at this point. Well, don't tell me which convenience store, because I'll end up blowing too much money there on these."

"How have things been at the docks?" Harper asked. "It's really hot during the day now; I can't imagine working outside like you do. It's bad enough walking between appointments."

"Heat doesn't bother me," he shrugged. Around another mouthful of brownie, he said, "Just cold."

"Still. Make sure you drink a lot of water, okay?"

His lips couldn't help but twitch upward at her concern. "I do." Offering her the last chunk of the chocolatey treat, he asked, "You sure you don't want anymore?"

"I'm sure," she nodded. "Gotta limit the chocolate intake. You like it more anyway, I think."

"There's never a good reason to curb chocolate intake," Bucky disagreed, still trying to hand her the brownie.

"Wanting to tend to one's pant size isn't a good reason?" she asked, lifting a brow at him.

Bucky took one last bite, effectively halving the last piece, and handed it toward her insistently. "Harper, there's nothing to tend to."

"I disagree, but I'd like to get off this subject," she frowned, taking the piece and popping it in her mouth.

The former soldier frowned. Drawing from his old charm and ability to be honestly flattering with women, he asserted, "There really isn't anything to tend to. You're a really attractive woman. I think you're beautiful."

"I know you think that; I just don't see myself that way. I've had issues with my body, related particularly to weight, pretty much my entire life. So it's hard for me to imagine that someone like you, who is so physically fit and attractive, can find someone like me attractive. It's sort of… exacerbating preexisting insecurities."

Bucky wasn't naïve enough about the condition of his own body to argue with her. He had literally been scientifically engineered and trained to be in peak physical condition. Lamely, he replied, "It probably doesn't help, but I'm being entirely sincere when I say that I have always found curvy women especially attractive. Particularly ones with dark hair."

"You have a type, then," she chuckled.

"I might," he allowed with a smile. "All this attention to how attractive I find you… I'm struck by the strong urge to kiss you."

"You're exceedingly polite and charming," Harper laughed.

"Charming enough that you'll indulge me?"

"This time," she teased coyly.

Bucky leaned forward and covered her lips with his own in a chaste kiss. He pulled away, lingering as he debated deepening the kiss. He settled for another quick peck before backing off, deciding not to push things further for the moment. The old Bucky would've seen how far he could get with a pretty dame, feel her out and figure out the pace at which he would have to charm her. But he didn't want to be that way anymore. His relationship with Harper wasn't a game; he wasn't just out for some fun.

"I should get going," Harper said reluctantly. She added a brief kiss of her own, before standing up.

"Can I walk you home?"

"You really don't have to, James," she shook her head.

"I'd like to."

"Well, I suppose I can't argue with that."

With a fond smile, Bucky stood as well. "Good."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the continued support, reviews, favorites, follows, and views. I'm really glad that this story has been well received thus far. And we finally have a confession! Nothing like near catastrophe to draw out the truth, right? If you have a moment, I'd love to hear any feedback you may have. I try to reply to reviews via PM and sincerely appreciate them all.

Speaking of, since I can't reply through PMs, I'll reply here. Thank you to the Guest who has left a couple of reviews. I'm super appreciative of your feedback and am relieved to hear that Bucky and Harper feel realistic. I can't connect to relationships that don't seem natural or truly plausible, so I always aim for that in my own writing. I hope that this continues to be true! Thank you again!


	14. Chapter 14

"James!"

"Harper!"

The brunette dissolved into a fit of laughter, music to the former soldier's ears. Bucky adjusted his hands beneath her thighs, making sure his hold was secure, before setting off up the stairs with the young woman on his back. He bolted up the first flight, rounding the corner and shooting up the next as well.

"Jeez!" Harper laughed, hands gripping tighter on his shoulders.

In moments, they had arrived on the third floor landing. Harper shifted as if to be let down, to which Bucky responded, "Not so fast; I intend to deliver you over your threshold, doll."

"I can get there on my own," she protested, but there was still laughter in her voice.

"I know you can, but this is faster."

They were soon at the end of the hallway, standing outside Harper's door. He bent his knees, allowing the young woman to slide from his back. She fumbled for her keys for a moment before managing to unlock the door. They entered quickly, not wanting to give the cat mewling his displeasure at Harper's feet any opportunity to make a run for it. With the door closed and locked behind them, Bucky watched Harper disappear into her room. She returned only a few minutes later, wearing a pair of short black cotton shorts and a baggy green t-shirt.

"Here," she warned before tossing him a bundle of clothing.

"What?" he asked, catching the bundle despite his surprise.

"Sweatpants and a t-shirt. You've already slept here in jeans too many times."

Bucky wasn't sure how to respond. It was certainly a thoughtful gesture. It would have been very forward if they were back in the dating era he had experience in. Was it still forward? Or was it truly just a kind gesture?

"Let me just brush my teeth real quick, and the bathroom is all yours," Harper continued before moving in that direction, only a slight sway to her gait.

The former soldier smiled; she was truly adorable when drunk. He decided it was simply a nice gesture, given the total innocence with which she was operating. There were many ways she could have been coyer if she was trying to initiate something more intimate. As many times as he had imagined all the different ways that scenario could play out, had envisioned tossing her to her mattress, climbing between her legs, her thighs tightening around his waist… He shook his head. Those fantasies had always occurred under the notion that he would never have any sort of a chance with her. But now he did, and he was entirely undeserving of touching her in that way.

"Stop thinking so hard," Harper scolded. She approached him from behind, running her fingers fondly through his hair. "Your turn in the bathroom."

He tilted his head back, looking up at her. The brunette leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Can I grab a blanket?"

"You're sleeping in my room. I never feel good about you out here on this shitty couch."

"You sure that's okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine. You're not gonna be fucking me; we're gonna be sleeping."

Bucky chuckled. "You're crass."

"I thought you enjoyed that about me?"

"I do," he assured with a small smile. He stood from the couch, clothes in hand. "Meet you there in a few."

"Hurry up, I don't wanna fall asleep before you join me, and the whiskey really is calling me toward slumber."

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded, still smiling.

He did indeed rush through the process of changing and getting ready for bed, excited at the prospect of cuddling up with Harper beneath the covers. Vaguely, he was impressed by her accurate guess at his clothing sizes, before exiting the bathroom. He moved across the hall to the bedroom, pausing for his eyes to travel over Harper's form. She lay on her stomach, dark hair falling across her back and over her shoulders. Her huge, fluffy feline lay stretched out beside her, paws hanging over the edge of the bed. Bright brown eyes were fluttering, signaling her struggle to remain awake.

Bucky carefully pulled back the edge of her comforter and immediately laughed. "Harper, what about the top sheet?"

"I don't use 'em," she muttered. A yawn parted her lips before she continued, "They're too cumbersome. They always end up bunched at the foot of the bed, so I just don't even bother anymore."

The former soldier slid under the comforter before pulling it back up over himself. "Can I hold you?"

Harper hummed her consent. Bucky turned, draping his flesh arm over her. He gently gathered her hair and pulled it to the side, allowing him to place a kiss to her shoulder. A sigh of contentment was breathed from Harper's nose.

"James?"

"Harper?"

"Does it bother you that I get drunk and you don't?"

"Not at all," he replied honestly. He couldn't be upset with her for being drunk just because his body didn't allow him to be. "You're a cute drunk."

"Aw, shucks. No need to butter me up," she chuckled. Harper turned her head to face him, cinnamon brown eyes tracing his face. A frown pulled at her lips. "I don't butter you up nearly enough."

Bucky chuckled lightly. "It's okay, Harper."

"I'm not sure how to do this whole… being together thing. I don't know that I'm good at it," she confessed, blinking blearily.

"You're wonderful, doll," he assured. "Don't worry. In a lot of ways, this is new and unclear to me, too."

"What d'you mean? I thought you were quite the ladies' man."

"Serial dater," he corrected. "It's not that I didn't care for the girls I dated back then. I did. But I didn't go into dating any of them with any real intentions beyond enjoying the fun of being young and dating."

"I can't imagine viewing dating as just a fun thing to do," Harper chuckled. "I found it stressful and painful last time I tried."

Bucky's fingers lost themselves in her hair, threading through the dark locks idly as his gaze remained on her face. Her brown eyes were still fluttering, but she was clearly trying to push the long day and the alcohol aside to listen to his explanation. "Back then, I was all about fun. I was riding the high of being good at pretty much anything I tried. Dating included. I went out with a lot of girls, but I never really got to know them. Not really, anyway. Little things, sure. Anna was afraid of heights and hated Ferris Wheels. Ruby loved dogs, so walks in the park were perfect. Marie was more interested in science than any girl I'd ever met before. But that was all on the surface, and it never even crossed my mind that I would be with any of them long term. I had a sort of amorphous idea of dating and having fun until a certain age, then just settling down with a pretty, kind, dependable woman. We'd have a few kids, raise 'em right, and grow old together."

"So what's different now that things feel new and unclear?" Harper asked, light voice betraying the heaviness of the question.

"Pretty much everything is different now," he sighed. "I'm basically a different person. What I want is totally different."

Harper looked at him silently for a moment before pressing, "What is it that you want?"

"I want to be redeemed," he confessed. "I want to be good, to be deserving of someone good. I don't want the same sort of life I had wanted before with the dependable, comfortable wife and a small brood of kids. I don't know what I want for the future exactly, just that I want to do my best at what's right."

"That's a worthwhile endeavor," Harper agreed. Her eyes had stopped fluttering and were clearer and more focused now.

"But this is all new and unclear, in part because who I am and what I want are different, but also because _you're _different. My feelings for you are different," he explained, again grateful that his long-standing skill of speaking honestly about his feelings to women had remained somehow over the decades. "Honestly, if we were younger, if we'd met before the army, I'd have tried to pair you up with Steve. He always had a thing for strong women that I never quite understood. I was attracted to the stereotype: the soft, modest woman who was also fun and knew how to use her feminine charm."

"You're right; that's definitely not me."

He pushed a fallen lock of hair from her face. "I'm glad. Women like I used to date… they knew nothing of pain. They wanted what I had wanted back then, too, and were using the stereotype to achieve the archetypal life. But that's not you. Your goal isn't to find a handsome, sturdy husband to take care of you."

"Damn right."

Bucky chuckled. "Point is, I remember how to be the sturdy, husband material type, even if I don't feel like that's who I am anymore. I would know how to act toward you if you were the sweet, maudlin type. But I'm trying to figure out who I am now, so there's where it's unclear. And I've never been with a woman like you, so it's all new. Don't worry about not being good at this."

"I will continue to worry, as that's who I am," Harper smiled. "But I do find all of this comforting, despite the focus on your success with past ladies."

"Sorry," he laughed lightly. "I don't mean it like that."

"I know. You're real cute; I'd have been surprised if you didn't have a past with at least a few ladies."

"Well, I could've said the same of you, but you've corrected me on that front."

"To be fair, I think that's been a me-problem, rather than a problem with other people and their view of me."

"I'd hardly consider you problematic, doll."

"Maybe because you're too concerned with labelling yourself as the problematic one."

"C'mon, where did sleepy, drunk Harper go?" he teased.

"Oh, she's still here. She waiting for you to make a move and cuddle her more than this."

"Well, shit. See? I'm clueless."

Bucky turned onto his side and reach both arms out to her, trying not to think about his metal one touching her. Harper scooted into him, allowing him to wrap her up in an embrace and to tuck her beneath his chin. She breathed a contented sigh into his collarbone and draped an arm around his middle. Her fingers lightly brushed over his lower back for a moment before settling.

"Better?"

"Better," she confirmed. There was a loud mewl and Bucky watched the huge orange cat get up and move closer to Harper, settling against her once again. She laughed and said, "Lucky me, sandwiched between my boys."

"I'm not sure whether to feel special that you hold me in that regard or insulted that I've been lumped in with a clingy old cat," he teased.

"Shut up and go to sleep," she muttered, nuzzling her nose against his sternum.

"Okay, doll. Good night."

* * *

"Hey, darlin'," Bucky greeted, placing a peck on Harper's temple. He slid into the booth across from her, smiling at the maple brew awaiting him. "Thanks."

"No problem," she replied absently, fingers flying over her keyboard. She glanced up and said, "I'll be social in like twenty minutes, okay?"

"Of course," he nodded. He took the opportunity to peruse the news for any Captain America related articles. Ever since Sokovia and the various reactions of the public, he had been keeping an eye out for anything to do with Steve. He knew some of the public dialogues would definitely be upsetting to his best friend. He had dedicated his life, had sacrificed so much, to protect people and to preserve their freedoms. It seemed that he and the other Avengers had well and truly disappeared into the wind. He frowned, hoping that Steve found some sort of comfort and real camaraderie with the other fighting heroes.

His attention was caught by Harper closing the lid of her laptop with a frustrated sigh. Gently, he asked, "Tough day?"

"You have no idea," she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Same shit different day," she grumbled. "How is your day going?"

"Pretty good," he nodded. "I was considering going to the market after this for some plums and a few other things, but I don't know. Now that it's so nice out, there are a lot of people there during the day."

"Crowds are still hard?"

"I can do them now," he shrugged. Honestly, he confessed, "But I'm still uncomfortable. I feel like I always need to be looking over my shoulder."

"I need a few things, too. If you wanted to, we could go together now."

"You don't want to eat lunch before your next appointment?"

Harper shook her head. "I'm too pissed off to eat. Are you okay pushing off lunch?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Alright, let's go," she replied, slipping her computer into her bag, standing up, and hoisting the bag over her shoulder.

Bucky downed the rest of his coffee quickly, blue eyes tracing her form. She wore tapered black pants, a loose fitting black blouse, and olive colored flats. The material of the blouse was thin, though still opaque, and the sleeves were rolled and cuffed to about a three quarter length.

"Aren't you hot in all black even in the summer?" Bucky asked, reached for her hand as they exited the café.

Harper placed her hand in his, lacing their fingers. "I'm hot in the summer regardless. I may as well be comfortable in my clothes."

"Black clothes make you comfortable?"

"They do. I feel like I look good in black, and outfits are real easy to put together," she answered. "We can't all pull off red."

"You like me in red?" he smirked.

"I do."

"I should've known. You got me that red thermal after all."

"I did," she nodded, cheeks flushing prettily.

They chatted comfortably as they walked deeper downtown toward the market. The closer they got, the more crowded the streets. Bucky couldn't help the tension in his body. What if someone recognized him? What if someone from Hydra was in hiding and spotted him? What if he ended up being followed?

"Plums, you said?" Harper asked, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah," he nodded. The brunette steered them through the crowd toward a fruit cart. He was relieved that she had taken the lead and allowed her to pull them toward their destination. The former assassin reminded himself that Harper was actually excellent cover and that this fact was why he had decided to be friendly with her in the first place. He adjusted his baseball cap just a little lower before pressing a kiss atop Harper's head, hoping she understood his gratitude.

* * *

Nipping teeth, a hand in his hair, fingers tugging. Panting breaths fanning across his jaw, breathy moans. Glassy, fluttering brown eyes gazing up at him, only halfway focused. Heaving, full breasts against his hard chest, shapely thighs clenched around his rocking hips.

His hand sped up, chasing his release.

"Fuck!" he gasped, falling over the peak. A few more pumps finished him off, and he braced himself on the shower wall, breathing heavily. The water beat against his back while also washing away the evidence of his lewd behavior.

He had a lot of guilt about fantasizing over Harper when they were just friends, but now he wasn't sure how to feel. Satiated, sure. But was it creepy to fantasize about your girlfriend?

"Shit," he cursed again, hit with a realization.

The soldier was positive that they both understood their arrangement as being exclusive. Equally, he was sure that her feelings for him were as serious as his feelings for her. But he had missed something significant. He hadn't actually asked her to be his girl. Bucky returned to the process of showering, mind turning over this realization and working out a remedy.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the feedback on the last chapter! I'm glad that Harper and Bucky's relationship journey has been fun to read thus far! Just a friendly reminder that there will be some adult-y situations in this story, so hopefully this last scene and future ones don't offend. Much appreciation again for all of the support.


	15. Chapter 15

Harper: James, I'm really sorry to do this so last minute, but I can't go out tonight.

James: Everything okay?

Harper: I think I'm about to start another cluster cycle.

James: Shit, I'm sorry, doll. Can I come over, or would you rather be alone?

Harper: You can come over. I'm really sorry.

James: You don't need to be sorry. I'll pick up some food and be over shortly. Any preferences?

Harper: Something comforting that, on a good day, would make me fucking hate myself for eating it.

James: Got it.

* * *

Bucky arrived at Harper's apartment half an hour later, a couple takeout bags in hand. He knocked gently on the apartment door before letting himself in and moving into the living space. Aslan lay curled in a ball in the armchair, big green eyes watching Harper's erratic pacing. A wad of tissues was clutched to the right side of her face and she was crying steadily.

The former soldier approached silently, settling the bags on the coffee table before moving to the bathroom. He gathered several tissues and returned to the living room. He placed a hand lightly on her left shoulder, careful to avoid touching anything on her upper right side, and gently eased the tissues from her face. Her red, swollen eye came into view, dripping tears. She sniffled immediately, and a particularly loud sob parted her lips.

"Shh, doll, it's okay," he whispered, swapping out the damp tissues with the clean ones he had brought her. She reached up to replace his hand with hers, pressing her clenched fist roughly against her eye.

"I can't fucking take this," she sobbed, head bowing and shoulders shaking.

Bucky's chest tightened painfully. He gingerly led Harper over to the couch. She dropped to it, rocking back and forth. He sat beside her, offering her his flesh hand. The young woman took it, gripping it with a strength that surprised him. "Harper, you'll be okay. You're going to get through this."

"I just want it to end," she wept.

"I know, darlin', I know," he cooed.

They went on this way for about twenty minutes before her sobs began to cease and her body stopped rocking. Bucky kept up his string of nonsensical comforts, speaking lightly still. Exhausted, Harper let her arm drop, taking the tissues from her eye. Cautiously, not at all confidently, Bucky lifted his metal hand, flattening it against the right side of her face.

Harper moaned immediately, startling him. He drew his hand back and she protested, "Wait! Please do that again."

He acquiesced, pressing the metal to her flushed skin. His bionic arm wasn't cold per say, but it was always a few degrees cooler than the rest of his body. Technology could only counteract the natural properties of metal to a certain extent, after all.

They sat like that for several minutes before Harper's eyes began to scrunch again and tears began leaking from beneath her eyelids. He pulled away and asked, "Am I hurting you?"

"No, I'm just really sorry I ruined tonight," she managed through the renewed sobs. "I'm sorry we can't just go out on a date whenever like normal people. Instead, you're stuck here watching me cry."

"You didn't ruin anything," he assured firmly. "We can go on dates whenever. Any time I spend with you is time worth spending."

"But I _wanted_ to go on a date tonight. I _want_ to be normal. I don't want to deal with this pain anymore," she moaned, dropping her head to her hands.

"I know, doll," Bucky muttered, rubbing slow circles on her back. "This isn't fair. You don't deserve this pain, and it shouldn't be something you have to live with. You're so strong, and so brave."

In a small voice, she replied meekly, "I don't feel strong."

He gently placed the back of his metal hand over the right side of her face, offering her its cool relief. "Maybe you don't feel it right now, but you don't always have to. I'm here for you when you don't."

"I'm glad," she muttered, eyes fluttering closed.

Bucky gently brushed his thumb into the raw, tearstained skin below her right eye. "Any better?"

"Yeah," Harper breathed, a few more tears leaking from her eyes. "Thank you."

The former soldier lifted his other hand, reverently cradling her face between both palms. He leaned in slowly, allowing her time to pull away if she needed to, before placing a tender kiss on her lips. It was brief, as Bucky remained mindful of the sensitivity in her face. He skimmed the tip of his nose across hers for a moment before asking, "Want to eat a little bit and then head to bed? I brought gyro fries and chicken wings."

Harper let out a moan of delight. "You're seriously my fucking hero, James."

"I'm no such thing, but thanks for saying so," he grinned wryly.

"Let me go wash my face, and I'll be right back," Harper said, rising from the couch.

Bucky watched her go, noting for the first time what she was wearing. Tight, grey cotton shorts were barely visible beneath an oversized, long sleeved black t-shirt, lending him a generous view of her pale, curvy legs. Blue eyes admired the expanse of skin, looking away once she disappeared into the bathroom. His gaze fell instead on the old cat still seated in the armchair, which was currently levelling him with a glare that somehow seemed highly disapproving. The two were locked in a staring match for several moments before Bucky looked away uncomfortably. Harper returned shortly after, and upon retaking her seat on the couch, the fluffy orange creature jumped down from his perch, hastening to Harper's feet and hopping up into her lap. Her hand absently buried itself in the thick fur.

"I didn't realize cats were territorial with their humans," Bucky commented, setting about unpacking the food he had brought.

"They can get pretty jealous," Harper replied, looking down at the feline fondly. "And this guy has some attachment issues, so it's probably even harder for him. I should have you start feeding him when you're over here so that he associates you with food. That should help you grow on him."

"As long as he doesn't come after me for being close to you," Bucky said warily.

"Buck up, ya big baby," Harper teased with a small smirk.

Bucky chuckled, glad to have a small indication that Harper was feeling a bit better.

* * *

"Shh, last one today, doll."

A shaky, heart-wrenching sob was the response Bucky received. He pecked Harper's temple and tightened his arms around her. They were sitting up in her bed, her last headache of the day having wrenched them both from sleep right on cue, about two hours after having retired to her room. She was about twenty minutes into the attack, and two weeks into the cycle. She was rocking back and forth in his arms, face buried in her hands as she whimpered and sobbed.

"It's okay, darlin', you're almost done."

This cycle was a bit different than the last he had seen. Instead of three headaches a day, she was only having two, and they were only about 45 minutes long. However, the attacks themselves seemed more severe in the level of pain. It had been incredibly alarming the first time he had seen her repeatedly thrust her fist to her temple as a desperate means of alleviating the pain. Over the course of the cycle thus far, Bucky had watched her fatigue more and more, her skin becoming pale and dull, and dark, puffy circles forming beneath her eyes.

He had also seen her struggle to balance the condition with other, necessary parts of her life. When she was in a cycle, she was forced to cram in as many work appointments as possible in the mornings, work through her lunch breaks to get through phone calls, and break for the late afternoon-early evening for the first headache. She would then work late into the night on her documentation to make up for the missed afternoons, falling asleep absolutely exhausted and knowing she'd be awake again in just a couple hours for the worst attack of the day. After getting through that, she would sleep for a few more hours and then have to get up and do it all again. Weekends were no reprieve. Saturday mornings had to be spent on any necessary errands and grocery shopping before the rest of the day's headaches and a desperate attempt to catch up on sleep. Sunday mornings were for bulk meal prep, so that she would have food to eat through the week when she had no time to make foods as she would need them. It left her apartment and laundry essentially unattended to, a fact that she expressed a deep embarrassment about. Bucky couldn't blame her for the undone chores. He could see that she was running on empty; how could he expect her to tackle a hamper full of laundry instead of trying to get some sleep in?

He had taken to doing the dishes and cleaning Aslan's litter box whenever he came over, which at first did not go over well. They had talked it out, and Bucky had a feeling he had only succeeded in calming her down because she was so tired. Either way, he was happy to do a couple small things that would make her days even just a bit easier.

Bucky had also come to realize how glad he was that Harper had her cat. He had now witnessed numerous times how the large animal was always nearby during an attack, approaching her quietly once they were done to lie in her lap or to stretch out against her. She would stroke the feline with shaking fingers, absorbing his warmth and feeling the softness of his thick fur. Bucky couldn't help but conclude that the cat was an enormous, grounding comfort after the excruciating, burning pain of the headaches. He was glad that she wasn't alone to grapple with the pain when he wasn't there.

"Fuck, James," she moaned through her tears.

"You've got this, Harper," he assured. "You're so, so strong, doll. It's almost over."

Finally, the last stretch of the attack passed, and Harper sagged against him. He supported her effortlessly, but noted the total exhaustion gripping her form. He had so much respect for her strength and perseverance to have been living through these cycles for years, somehow making her life work around them. She had, at minimum, another week of headaches coming up, if not two. Her physical and mental reserves seemed entirely depleted, but he knew she would push through and get by. That she'd been doing just that for six years already.

"I wish it were all really over," she muttered into his collarbone. "I can't take this."

"I know, doll," he soothed, running his fingers through her hair. "You're doin' so good."

"I'm only twenty-five. I have maybe sixty more years of this. I can't do that!" she replied, voice rising into a desperate wail. The tears came again and Bucky held her tighter. Perhaps Harper had really held back in the first cycle he had seen, but this one seemed to be taking a much greater toll on her mental health.

He gently grasped her shoulders, encouraging her to lean back. Gingerly, his thumbs stemmed the flow of tears from her eyes and swiped the moisture from her cheeks. Her lower lip trembled with her efforts to hold back more. With that done, Bucky gently pressed his metal hand to the right side of her face. His heart swelled as her eyes fluttered closed with relief. She had told him after the first time he had tried this how good it had felt. The headaches themselves she described as having a white hot poker thrust into her temple and held there for the entire duration of the attack. His metal hand ran a few degrees cooler than the rest of his body, making it a source of relief from the burning pain without being so cold as to be uncomfortable thanks to her heightened sensitivity. It worked again now, and he held his hand there until he was sure that her skin had warmed the metal beyond the point where it could provide any further relief.

"C'mon, Harper," he whispered gently. "Get some sleep. Everything will be okay."

"Okay," she mumbled, clearly barely holding sleep off already. She fell back into the pillows, and Bucky followed, gathering her in his arms again. He threw the comforter over them, mindful of the cat at her feet.

The former soldier placed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Pancakes in the morning?"

"Yeah," she agreed sleepily. Bright brown eyes gazed at him blearily. "Thank you."

It didn't escape him that she was referring to more than just the offer of breakfast food. Blue eyes remained on hers and he replied earnestly, "I've got you."

* * *

Three weeks of headaches had passed without reaching the end of the cycle. Bucky was finding it more and more difficult not to spend each evening with Harper. Perhaps it was his 1920s and 30s upbringing, but it didn't sit well with him that he wasn't taking care of his girl when she was unwell. He wanted to be her protector, to dote on her. Of course, he refrained, knowing that even at her lowest that would only make Harper feel even worse. It wasn't often that he felt any sort of struggle to grapple with his own, much different background from hers, and honestly, he was glad Harper was a woman of fierce independence, but it was hard to adjust all the same.

"Can't I just sleep here for a little bit?" Harper asked from beneath his arm.

"No more headaches tonight, so if you go to bed now, you can just sleep the whole night through," he reasoned. "And you won't kick yourself in the morning for letting this couch give you a sore back."

"I'll be fine," she argued weakly, turning to more comfortably rest her head on his shoulder.

Bucky chuckled and rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm. "Harper, one last push for the day."

"Nope, I'm done today, thank you," she laughed lightly. "Please try again tomorrow during business hours."

"You're stubborn."

"Whatever helps a girl get by," replied Harper dismissively.

Bucky pulled away and instructed, "Put your arms around my neck."

"Huh?"

"Put your arms around my neck," he repeated smoothly.

Harper blinked at him sleepily, but didn't argue. She coiled her arms loosely around his neck, and Bucky swiftly maneuvered his hands beneath her thighs, pulling her into his lap briefly before standing. Her eyes widened, and she immediately protested, "Wait, you don't have to carry me!"

"I'm solving the stubbornness problem."

"You can put me down," she insisted. Deep pink coloring her cheeks, she said, "I'm not light."

"Harper, believe me when I say that I don't feel at all strained. Remember that time I ran up the stairs with you on my back?" he asked, walking toward her bedroom. With a sly smirk, he asked, "And maybe I just want you wrapped around me?"

The pink deepened to crimson, leaving no doubt that she understood the dual meaning. "Well, that's filthy, James."

"You aren't the only one who can crack a crude joke," he replied. His knees hit the edge of her bed and he set her gently down on the mattress.

"It would seem that way," she chuckled.

"Scoot your pretty butt over," he requested playfully.

Harper scoffed but acquiesced, moving over to the far side of the bed. Bucky slid in beside her before pulling the comforter over them. Harper turned onto her side to face him and he mimicked her position. He rested a hand on her hip, squeezing gently before allowing his palm to run up and down the side of her thigh, exposed by her cotton shorts. Her skin was soft and warm, her thigh deliciously curvy.

"I'll admit that this is more comfortable," she muttered, eyes falling closed as exhaustion tempted her toward slumber.

"Told you," he responded without malice.

"Thank you again, James, seriously. This isn't how I want things to be."

"You don't need to thank me, doll," he assured. "There's a whole lotta things I'd do for you that are way worse than this. I'm just sorry that you have to go through all this pain."

The dark haired woman gently shoved at his shoulder. "Shush; you're too nice."

"It's not about being nice," Bucky corrected. "It's about doin' right by my girl."

Brown eyes opened to meet his. She asked, "Your girl?"

Bucky cursed lowly for allowing the slip. Timidly, he admitted, "Well, I guess nothing is technically... When I asked you to dinner a couple weeks ago, I was gonna ask you if we could make things official. I think we're both on the same page that we're not seeing other people, but I have serious feelings for you, Harper."

"Well, you could ask me now," she suggested.

He grimaced. "I wanted to do things a little more properly than to ask you while we were in your bed."

"I don't much concern myself with being proper."

"I know," the former soldier smiled fondly. Resolve hardening and expression turning more serious, he asked, "Harper, could we make things official?"

"As in, I would be able to call you my boyfriend?" she asked with a playful grin.

"Definitely."

"Then, yes, I'd like that," Harper nodded, eyes bright for the first time in weeks. "Very much."

"Should we seal the deal then?"

At another nod, Bucky leaned down, placing his lips atop hers gently. It was a sweet, warm kiss which tightened his chest in a pleasant way. Pulling back, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, his thumb caressing her lips tenderly. The former assassin placed another soft kiss to her lips before breathing, "Good night, Harper."

"Good night, James."

* * *

A/N; Many thanks for the continued support, follows, favorites, etc. If you have the time, I'd love any feedback you could provide.


	16. Chapter 16

Harper: The cycle has ended!

James: For sure?

Harper: For sure. It's been an hour since I was supposed to get an attack. This shit's done!

James: Well then I owe you a date.

Harper: I feel like it's more like I owe you the date, given I'm the reason we've been hermits for nearly a month, but I'll take you up on that.

James: Saturday night? Movie and dinner out?

Harper: Sounds good to me!

* * *

"So what did you think of the movie?" Harper asked, spearing a floret of broccoli as she addressed the elephant in the room.

"It wasn't what I expected," Bucky answered cautiously. "What about you?"

"Not my favorite," she admitted. The young woman shrugged and expanded, "Soft core porn isn't really my thing."

The former soldier snorted a laugh. He nodded and agreed, "There was a gratuitous amount of nudity and implied explicit acts for a movie that was supposed to be pretty slice of life."

"I guess it was a slice of some kinda life," Harper chucked. "Certainly not mine. All my lecherous old man clients would have a field day if I was naked as often as the people in that movie, though."

"I'm sure they would," Bucky frowned. Changing topics so his thoughts wouldn't linger on that too much, he asked, "Have you spoken with your sisters at all recently?"

"Not really," she sighed. "They're binge drinking their way through college and don't have much free time. No judgement though. I mean, that's how I spent my time in college."

"It must be hard, though."

Harper shrugged again. "Isn't everything?"

"Most things," he sighed lightly. "Not being with you, though. That's almost always felt pretty easy."

"Yeah?"

He hummed his affirmation, loading his fork full of pasta and chicken.

"Well, jeez," she smiled. "You flatter me."

* * *

"Not sure how to feel about how you've made it through almost three hours of another Lord of the Rings movie without complaint," Bucky commented, smirking playfully at Harper. "Should I feel threatened by your clear attraction to Legolas?"

"Not at all, dear," she grinned wickedly. Patting his knee, she added, "Don't you worry your pretty little head over such a trivial matter."

"I don't feel comforted by that at all," he laughed.

He leaned in and placed a quick peck to her lips. When he pulled away, their eyes met. Bucky glanced down at her lips again, then back up into bright brown eyes. Slowly, he moved in once more, pressing another kiss to her lips. Cautiously, he swiped his tongue across her lower lip. Harper moved closer to him on the couch, her hand finding his knee. His hand rose to cup her cheek, gently coaxing her to tilt her head a little more. Another light caress of his tongue across her lip coaxed them apart. He took his time, tracing the plump pink flesh, the tip of his tongue dipping luxuriously into her cupid's bow, before slipping the lithe muscle between the seam of her lips and tasting her for the first time. He had waited so long – ad fantasized about what she would taste like, what it would feel like to kiss her like this – and it was even better than he could've hoped for.

Bucky threaded his fingers through her hair, locking gently at the base of her neck. He was gentle, reverent, in his movements. Appreciative that she was allowing him to do so. Her mouth remained still against his as he made several exploratory passes, but her fingers were curled tight against his knee. It was as he was beginning to feel more familiar with her that she began to respond, setting alight a whole new realm of exploration.

Suddenly, Bucky felt like the pre-war version of himself again. If he flicked his tongue against hers, what reaction would he get? If he moved in harder, deeper, bending her back over his arm, would she like it? What could he do to draw any little sound of pleasure from the lips he was hell-bent on bruising? He kissed her hard, he kissed her softly, he wrapped his arms around her, he held her up to his chest. He tasted her, he savored her. He reveled in her breathlessness when one of them pulled away for a moment. He hadn't experienced the visceral pleasure of kissing a woman like this in over seventy years, and it felt indescribably good to do so again.

Harper backed away for a moment, looking up at him with her bright brown eyes, pupils blown wide. "You'll miss the end of the movie."

"Fuck the movie," he breathed, diving back in for another taste.

His concept of time was totally shot, as not much existed outside of Harper. Bucky had no idea how long they were entwined on the couch. It wasn't until he felt a twitch below the belt that he pulled away for good. The space between them was filled with ragged breaths.

"Was that okay for me to do?" he asked finally, realizing perhaps considerably too late how intense he had been.

"You were a little late, but yeah, I'd say it was pretty fine," Harper replied with a mischievous grin.

"Late, was I?" he chuckled, leaning back on the couch and pulling her with him. His flesh arm curled around her, holding her against him.

"I was beginning to wonder if all that talk of you finding me attractive was bullshit," she teased.

He knew she was joking, but nevertheless assured, "Not at all. I probably have downplayed how attractive I find you, actually. I just didn't want to move too quickly."

"Trust me, if you so much as try to do anything I'm not down for, you will be swiftly informed to cut it the fuck out," Harper replied. She leaned her head on his shoulder and reached across him to lace her fingers with his metal ones. "So don't worry. It may slow you down too much."

"I'm feeling chastised, doll," Bucky chuckled, gently squeezing her hand with his cybernetic one.

"Good," she said easily. "You've been depriving me of your kissing skills for a few months!"

He barked a laugh and promised, "It won't happen again."

* * *

Harper: I just got the best news!

James: Really? What's up?

Harper: You remember me telling you about Kat?

James: Your college roommate? She's the one teaching English to kids in Portugal, right?

Harper: Yes! And her program is ending next week, but she's coming to visit for a week before heading back to the States!

James: I'm really happy for you, doll. That's got to be really exciting.

Harper: It is! She'll be flying in next Friday, and we'll spend that night catching up, but I was hoping you'd want to join us for dinner Saturday?

James: Of course. It'll be nice to meet someone so important to you.

Harper: Great! Seems like it's about time two of the most important people in my life meet, and to connect the two disparate parts of my life a bit more.

James: You flatter me, darlin.

Harper: No flattery! Just truth! Anyway, she and I have a Skype date to iron out some details of her trip out here in like five minutes. See you tomorrow for coffee and lunch?

James: Absolutely. Have a good night.

Harper: You too!

* * *

The closer dinner with Harper and Kat got, the more panicked Bucky became. He had been so blinded by his affection for the brunette that he had agreed without taking into consideration any of the dangers involved with spending any length of time with another person. Sure, he had gotten to know Harper, had gotten to know some of the other manual laborers in the city, but Harper had never given any indication of recognizing him, and his coworkers were always too busy focusing on the job and their unsavory discussions to ever stand a chance at identifying him. Dinner with Kat would mean actually getting to know someone else without any distractions. What if she recognized him? After the events in DC, the confrontation with Captain America had been all over the news. There had been a few pictures of him in circulation. While none of them were very clear, it was still a possibility that someone might recognize him or be astute enough to put the pieces together.

As he got ready to head over to Harper's to meet up with them, he made sure to shave. It was something he hadn't really kept up with since joining the 107th, so he thought that would help. Plus, he did know that Harper enjoyed his clean shaven face. He pulled on a red, long-sleeved shirt that Harper had gotten him, fingering the lightweight fabric with a small smile. He had begun wearing t-shirts and sleeveless shirts around her, but she never pushed him to do so in public. Which was fortunate, because that was something he would never do. Regardless, he donned the shirt and pulled one of his thin black gloves on over his metal hand. He stepped into a pair of light wash jeans, pulling them up over his hips and fastening the button with a sigh. The former assassin surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror, wondering if there was anything else he could do to hide his identity. The only other obvious thing was to cut his hair, but that didn't feel right. He wasn't the clean cut WWII soldier anymore. Plus, such a sudden change could serve to alarm Harper. He'd just have to be careful and bail if it seemed like Kat was putting anything together about his true identity.

Bucky moved into the living space, grabbing his phone off the arm of the couch. He noticed that he had a text from Harper.

Harper: I was too hungover to cook tonight. Mind if we go out? Or would you rather we do takeout in?

Bucky: Whatever you want, doll.

Harper: Cute, but I'm asking your opinion.

Bucky: You wanted to go to the bar tonight, too, right? Makes sense to just go out and stay out.

Harper: I like the way you think. Would you rather meet us somewhere?

Bucky: No, I'll still come to you first. Am I still good to come over in a half hour?

Harper: Sure thing!

Bucky: See you then, doll.

After another fifteen minutes agonizing over the risk of being recognized and losing everything he had with Harper, Bucky headed out. Unfortunately, surveying his surroundings was so second nature to him that it did little to distract him from his worries. Luckily, he was soon buzzing his way into Harper's building. The promise of seeing her and being in her stable presence was realized when she opened the door to her apartment, allowing him entry.

"Hey, James," she greeted, grin wide.

"Hey, doll," he replied, returning her smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek before quickly surveying her appearance. Her dark hair looked freshly washed and loosely curled. Thick, dark lashes framed her neutrally made up eyes. Her lips were painted bright, alluring red. Blue eyes lingered on her full lips, appreciating their absolutely sexy appearance. His eyes trailed downward, freezing again at her attire. She wore high waisted black jeans and a form-fitting black top that left about an inch and a half of her pale torso free above the waistband of the jeans. Over that, she wore a dark olive colored bomber jacket. It was only a thin strip of skin, but it was incredibly tantalizing. The way the top and the jeans hit her emphasized the hourglass shape of her torso, something the jacket couldn't obscure to his keen eye. She wore her usual heeled black ankle boots. "You look great."

"Thanks," she replied, hooking her arm with his and tucking it into her side. With the other hand, she gesture toward the other brunette in the room. "James, this is Kat. Kat, meet James."

The short brunette approached him with a bright smile and greeted, "Nice to meet you, James."

"And you, Kat," he responded with a nod.

"You should know that you're in a place of high honor," Kat commented seriously.

"Oh?"

The woman nodded. "Harper is the most highly discerning woman I've ever met when it comes to men. You're the only one to meet her standards in six years."

"Ah, well, I am honored to have been allowed into Harper's life, regardless of how discerning she is," Bucky said honestly. "I certainly don't feel I deserve her in mine."

"Shut up, both of you," Harper snapped, her cheeks flushing. "I'm suddenly regretting everything about tonight. Kat forcing me into these shitty clothes, James flattering me gratuitously…"

Kat barked a laugh and playfully shoved at Harper's shoulder. "Stop being dramatic, ya baby. Let's go get dinner. The hangover has passed and now I'm hungry and ready to get drunk again."

"Fine, fine," Harper sighed exaggeratedly. "Let's go."

The three headed out, Harper slipping her arm from Bucky's to lock her apartment door behind her. As they made their way outside and set off in the direction of the restaurants and bars, he replaced his arm loosely around her middle. Beneath the cover of her jacket, he teased the exposed flesh of her midriff with the tips of his fingers. Harper gave him a knowing look from beneath her lashes and a small smile turned her lips, but she otherwise made no reaction, merely continuing her conversation with Kat. He cupped the curve of her waist in his hand, appreciating her soft skin and the sexy figure she kept hidden.

As they walked, Bucky took in Kat's appearance a bit more. She was shorter than Harper and was quite slim. Her hair was a medium brown, and she had dark brown eyes. She was definitely a beautiful woman, the sort you might see on the cover of a magazine if it wasn't for her height. While he could appreciate her modern beauty, she wasn't really his type. However, he could see how Harper would have some insecurities having a best friend who represented a much different sort of beauty than she did. Especially, when that best friend was more typically attractive by current standards, however affronting to his sensibilities they may be.

"So when will your classes start?" Harper asked.

"Two weeks," Kat sighed. "No rest for the weary."

"Jeez, I'll say," Harper replied. Looking up at Bucky, she explained, "Kat is starting a yearlong program to get her Master's in Education."

"That's great," Bucky nodded, trying to hide the fact that he didn't really have a strong idea of what that meant.

"I'm excited but also pretty stressed," Kat lamented.

"I'll buy you a drink," Harper offered. "That'll help you get over it."

"Right you are," the other woman grinned. Turning to Bucky, she asked, "How do you keep up with this raging alcoholic, James? Lord knows it was all our group of friends could do to hang with her in college. Now that we're all older and our livers are already damaged, I have no clue how anyone could keep pace with her long term."

"A bottle of wine a week hardly makes me an alcoholic," Harper drawled. "No need to be bitter because I could outdrink you all at parties."

"Real talk, though, Harper," Kat began firmly. "Have you even considered cutting out the booze to see if it'd reduce your cluster cycles?"

"Of course I've considered it," Harper frowned. "But I'm not ready to give up my one night a week where I can just relax and forget things."

"Weed," Kat suggested.

"Not into it, remember?"

"I don't know why. It's pretty great."

"Whatever, Kat. This old borderline alcoholic is set in her ways."

"Just think about it, okay Harper?"

"Sure," the young social worker mumbled.

Bucky gently squeezed her side and tactfully asked, "So where are we going to eat? You ladies never told me."

"Harper was talking up some authentic Romanian place? With a load of meat and good pickles?"

The women began discussing the food, all tension gone. Harper tucked one of her hands inside her jacket, resting on top of his on her side. She gave his hand an appreciative squeeze. He had to duck his head to hide the smile that formed on his lips. He was happy to have been sensitive to Harper's mood and that he had successfully protected her from an unpleasant situation. That seemed to be what she had been doing for him since they first became acquainted, and he was glad to know he was capable of returning the gesture.

* * *

A/N: Apologies that I haven't updated in a little bit. I felt like I really needed to unplug recently. When I did return to the online world, I was admittedly disappointed at the limited feedback on the last couple chapters. I'm a little worried that maybe I haven't characterized Bucky very well now that he's in an actual relationship, or that maybe the pacing is off. Regardless, I do really appreciate all the favorites and follows. I hope that things take a turn for the better in the story as I go back to updating as usual so that things can progress!


	17. Chapter 17

"I don't do karaoke, and you know that!" Harper protested firmly. Her certainty was somewhat cast into doubt by the giggle that bubbled from her lips afterward.

"Yeah, yeah. 'I've never been drunk enough for that shit,'" Kat replied in a mocking tone. "Live a little, woman!"

"But I can't sing," Harper frowned.

Kat rolled her eyes. "Everyone here is drunk, aside from your heavyweight boyfriend."

Harper absently reached out and ran her hand up and down Bucky's forearm. "He is of impressive tolerance and self-control."

"Whatever," the shorter brunette waved Harper off. "He'll still like you even if you're a shitty singer. Right, James?"

"Of course," he replied easily. "Though I can't imagine Harper being shitty at anything."

"Sto-op," the young social worker whined, drawing out the word. She let her head drop, burying her face against his bicep.

Bucky chuckled, patting her knee affectionately. "Don't do anything you don't want to, doll. But you could have fun with this, you know."

"Harper, you would never do karaoke with me in college. And now we're together again after three years. Now's the time!"

"I disagree," Harper mumbled into Bucky's arm.

"Party pooper," Kat pouted. "Well, see ya, 'cause I'm gonna do it."

"M'kay, bye," Harper replied with a frown.

Kat stood and walked over to the small queue of people awaiting their turn at the karaoke machine. Bucky was unsure of what to say, feeling suddenly quite awkward. Luckily, Harper spoke up, "Sorry we squabble a bit. It's nothing serious."

Bucky nodded his understanding and moved his arm around Harper's shoulders. She briefly nuzzled his neck before resting her head on his shoulder. She piped up again, "You look really fucking good tonight. Like, even better than usual."

"You flatter me, doll."

"No, seriously. You're already sexy as shit, and then you shave? _Fuck_, James."

Bucky had to chuckle at her drunken brashness. "You like me clean shaven that much?"

"I like the light stubble, too, and I think you're obscenely attractive regardless, but yeah, clean shaven is my preference across the board, you included."

"You could've asked me to shave if you like this better," he assured.

"I wouldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Well, first off, because I'd be pissed if you asked me to do something like that. Just as it's my body and I wouldn't want you trying to exercise your will on it, this is yours, and I have no right to try to exercise my will on it. Your body, your face, your choice."

The former assassin couldn't quite come up with a response. He had noticed vaguely in the time that he was with Harper that she had a way of protecting and encouraging his own personal choices. This was another prime example. He wouldn't have ever thought of such a request as projecting his will someone, but he supposed in a way it was. While he was coming to realize there was probably very little he wouldn't do for her, he appreciated that she was unwilling to try to change him to suit her own preferences.

"That being said, if you ever get so scraggly and ratty that it seems unhygienic, I'd say something. As much as I like kissing you, there is a line."

"Of course," he laughed lightly. "And thank you. I'll endeavor to return the courtesy, although I can't imagine what I could possibly ever request about you in regards to grooming habits. It's no secret I quite like you as you are."

Harper took a deep sip of her whiskey then supplied, "I was largely referring to the fact that you'll be disappointed if you prefer bare lady bits, because I just can't get into that. Aesthetically or hygienically."

Bucky flushed a brilliant red and tensed. "Holy shit, Harper. I'm somehow never prepared for the things that come outta your mouth."

"Point is, it's my body and I'd be upset if you wanted me to change how I'm caring for it to meet your aesthetic standards, so I'd never do the same to you," she explained.

"I understand," he nodded. Feeling less caught off guard, he assured, "And to clarify, I don't prefer bare lady bits."

A small smile turned her lips. "Good."

"If we weren't somewhere public, and if I wouldn't end up with a pair of blue balls, I'd have a lot to say on the subject of your lady bits though," he smirked devilishly, trying to return the favor of surprising her with suggestive banter.

The brunette's cheeks flushed crimson. "You a dirty talker?"

Loving this new flirtatious game, he turned his head until his lips brushed her ear as he breathed, "Would you like it if I am? If I told you about all the things I've thought about doing with my lady?" His mischievous grin grew, seeing Harper shift and cross her legs. "I'll take that as a 'yes.'"

"That's a sound conclusion," she allowed with a small nod.

Deciding to tease just a bit further, he confessed, "What conclusion could I draw about the sounds you might make if I acted on those thoughts? I'd love to hear my name, maybe, while you sing your praise of my efforts."

"Holy shit, James," Harper breathed, unable to meet his gaze. "Cool it, or I'm gonna have to rub one out before the end of the night."

Bucky hissed a breath through his teeth, trying desperately not to envision such a scene. He nodded and agreed, "Yeah, cooling it is for the best. Kat's up and we should probably not be flushed, horny messes when she comes back."

Harper gave another nod and quickly downed her drink. Bucky grinned, taking a swig from his beer. It felt nice to have caught Harper off guard, and even better to be so sinfully flirty. It felt deliciously normal, and also gave him hope that he could continue to grow closer and more intimate with the woman at his side.

* * *

The door to the café opened, and Bucky glanced up from his book. He smiled, setting the tome aside as Harper strode toward their usual table. She slid into the booth, dropping her laptop bag to the seat.

"Hey, doll," he greeted.

"Hey," she returned, leaning across the table and meeting him for a brief kiss. "How're you?"

"Good," he answered. "You? How's your day going?"

"I'm fine. The day is dragging a little since I took the rest of the week off to spend as much time with Kat as possible before she leaves Friday night."

"Have you been having a nice time with her?"

Harper nodded. "It's been more low-key since the three of us went out on Saturday. Which has been really nice, even though I do love a good night of drunken shenanigans."

"I'm glad you've been having a good time," he smiled softly. "You were definitely overdue for something good."

"Hey, I've had good," she grinned coyly. "I've had you."

Bucky laughed lightly before asking, "Do you want the usual for lunch?"

"I can get it," Harper said, reaching for her bag.

"I've got it," he cut her off, standing and moving to the barista's counter before Harper could further protest.

Bucky returned a few minutes later with a ham and cheese croissant, setting it gently on her side of the table, as well as a chocolate filled pastry for himself. Harper set her phone down and shot him a smile. "Thanks, James."

"It surprises me that this is one of your staples given your general distaste for pork and for eating cheese and bread at the same time."

Harper chuckled. "Have you not quite put together how quirky I am yet?"

He smirked and teased, "You keep me on my toes."

"Is that a good thing?" she asked, peering up at him coyly from beneath her lashes.

"Obviously; I'm pretty clearly into you, right?" he grinned.

"Clearly?" she asked with a thoughtful hum. "Well, that's relative, right?"

Bucky caught her jest, and played along, "Is it not clear?"

"Saturday night things were particularly clear," she mentioned, tearing off a piece of her croissant idly.

A laugh parted his lips, as taken off guard as usual by the young social worker. "The whiskey didn't wipe that conversation from your memory?"

"Decidedly not."

"Was it okay to have had that conversation?"

Harper smiled lightly and nodded. "Yeah, it was. It is."

"I'd never spoken to a lady like that before," he confessed. "That was definitely a new experience."

"Really?"

"I mean, not outside of in passing in bed," he nodded. "I've really tried in the past to stick to very traditional, very polite interactions with women."

"What makes it different now? Why with me?" Harper asked neutrally before popping another bite in her mouth.

Bucky thought over the questions for a moment as he chewed on the pastry. Slowly, he answered, "I think it's part of the new, modern version of myself. I don't want to be a traditionalist anymore. And I think you make me feel comfortable enough to break away from the old me. You're so… not traditional, which is scary and new and comforting all at the same time."

A smile teased at the corner of her mouth. "A traditionalist I certainly am not. I'm glad to hear that I'm comfortable in some way, though."

"A lot of ways."

Harper's cheeks flushed lightly. "You're seriously really, really good to me, James."

"Don't flatter me."

Her cinnamon colored eyes leveled him with a meaningful look. "Well, you're the only man I've found willing to deal with my thick, quirky ass, especially given the cluster headaches. It doesn't escape me how difficult it is to be with someone with a chronic, incurable pain condition. How hard it is to watch someone you care about live with pain. It means a lot that you'd even just try to be with me."

"It's a genuine honor."

Harper flushed more deeply and scoffed. "This is too heavy for a lunch conversation. Where are we going Saturday to cheer me up after Kat leaves?"

Shifting gears, Bucky leaned back in the booth with a grin. "I was thinking movies during the day to stay out of the sun and heat, but then I thought we could go to the river at night. It'll still be warm out, but there won't be many people."

"Like, to the beach section?"

The former soldier nodded, placing the last bite of his pastry into his mouth. Harper nodded slowly, eyes blank as she thought the suggestion over. Finally, she passed him the last chunk of her croissant and said, "That sounds like a really good Saturday."

"It's a date, then."

* * *

"Are you sure you're not too warm?" Harper asked, referring to his ever present long sleeved t-shirt.

"I'm fine, really," Bucky assured.

The couple walked hand in hand down the small stretch of riverbed the locals treated as a beach. It was nearly 11pm, so the area was empty of other people. All the same, Bucky wouldn't ever take the risk of exposing his arm, still permanently etched with the bright red star on the bicep, in a public place or to anyone aside from Harper.

"It's pretty," Harper observed, looking out on the water. "You think it's cold?"

"Probably a little," he guessed.

Harper stopped walking, loosing her hand from his. She lifted the bottom of the black maxi dress she wore and toed off her sandals. Lifting the hem to her knees, she walked forward, wading only up to her ankles at the river's edge. Looking back at him over her shoulder, she said, "It's like a refreshing kind of cold."

"Careful, doll, you're looking indecent. Knees in public!" he pointed out playfully.

"Oh, shush," she waved him off, turning back to look across the river. "It's dark out and you're my only witness."

"I'm flattered, ma'am, that you'll allow only me to witness you in such a state," Bucky continued cheekily, kicking off the cheap slides he had recently picked up. He stepped forward, joining her in the cool water rushing over their feet. "I can only hope that you'll continue to allow me to bear witness to such pleasurable indecency."

Harper grinned, holding back a laugh, and lightly shoved at his shoulder. "Shut up, James!"

Bucky returned her smile warmly, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Sorry, I just can't contain my admiration for such a beautiful lady."

Harper looked up at him before rolling her eyes. "I can't take that shit seriously. Especially when literally we're talking about my legs up to my knees."

"I know you're aware that I'm joking to a degree, but I don't tell you often enough how beautiful you are."

Her cheeks flushed and he gave the curve of her side a squeeze where his hand was resting. His thumb moved up and down along the downward slope of her rib cage and the hourglass dip of her side. "You flatter me more than I'd ever have expected."

He leaned down and pressed a peck to her cheek before saying, "I wish the world had been kind enough to you that your expectations were more in line with what you deserve."

Harper turned away and he felt her tense up. She muttered, "You're making me feel too many things right now."

"What do you mean?" he blinked in confusion.

"You're just… hitting the nerve of a deeply buried issue," she answered with a small sniffle.

"I'm sorry, darlin'," he muttered, wrapping both his arms around her waist. He pulled her against him.

"Don't worry about it, seriously," she said quickly. "You're so fucking kind, and thoughtful, and honest, and sometimes that makes me realize how screwed up I am, how much I still hate myself despite years of trying to accept myself. But it's not you, really. You are absolutely wonderful to me."

"I can empathize," he admitted. "Since I met you, you've been challenging me. I've been trying to be a man that you deserve."

Harper turned in his arms to wrap her own around his middle. She rested her head against his chest. "I truly didn't think I could ever be with someone like you, James."

Bucky held her a bit tighter and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He whispered into her hair, "I just realized… Your dress must be getting wet."

"Worth it," Harper replied, tightening her embrace.

"Hang on." Bucky secured his arms around her waist and picked her up. Her eyes widened in surprise. He moved his way back up onto the beach before sitting down in the sand, bringing her down with him to perch in his lap. With little pretense, he locked her into a kiss. Her lips moved against his tenderly, one hand crawling up his chest to rest on his cheek. His hands gripped her hips. Gently, he parted the seam of her lips with his tongue. She breathed a small noise of approval. Carefully, he tasted her, explored her, trying to commit the experience to memory. He never wanted to forget what he was feeling: her thighs encasing his hips, her hand splayed on his chest, the heat of her mouth against his, her openness to his intimate actions. He felt so much younger, happier.

Absently, his flesh hand left her hip, travelling upward only to stop and lightly palm a full breast. He gave the globe a gentle squeeze, the primal part of him contented with the fullness and weight of the flesh in hand. She was firm, round, and pert. His thumb teased at her nipple through the fabric of her dress.

Bucky pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "I want to touch you so fuckin' bad."

"Maybe next time we're somewhere more private?" Harper suggested. "I'm not quite brave enough to continue this in public much longer."

"Sorry," he chuckled. The former soldier then nodded his agreement. "Let's head back."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites. I really appreciate the support. I hope that the rising sexual tension doesn't dissuade anyone from continuing this read. Let me know any thoughts on the matter. I'd appreciate feedback in general, truthfully. Many thanks again for the support.


	18. Chapter 18

"Darlin', are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Evidently, that was not the thing to say, because Harper's eyes began to rapidly and fruitlessly blink back tears. Her hand moved up to scrub at her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, darlin'," Bucky assured gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You don't need to apologize."

"I do," she insisted. "You shouldn't have to cuddle a ticking time bomb."

He carefully pushed her dark hair from her face. "I don't feel like I am, okay? But, doll, what's wrong?"

"It's been a really hard week at work, and today was just awful," she sniffled, rubbing underneath her eyes. "You know that client I was telling you about? The super nasty older guy?"

"The one who opened the door with his dick out when you went to see him last week?" Bucky asked darkly.

"Yeah, and who yelled at me literally every time we interacted," Harper nodded. "Well, that behavior last week was really out of character for him, and then the nurse who goes out to see him every Thursday to do medication management had to call an ambulance because when she showed up, he was unconscious on the floor. His blood sugar was low, but he was released from the hospital over the weekend. Since he was in the hospital, I had to go see him Monday once he came home. We talked about better strategies to manage his diabetes, and he agreed to everything, as he always does because he wants me to leave.

"Then the nurse saw him yesterday and reported he was running out of his insulin and couldn't pay for a ride to the pharmacy to get more. He was her last patient of the day, so the pharmacy was already closed. I had an appointment first thing this morning, then went to the pharmacy to get his insulin, and headed over to his apartment. When I got there, he didn't answer the door. I got the building manager and he opened up the apartment. He was unconscious on the floor in a pool of his own vomit. I called emergency services and they took him to the hospital. I got a call a couple hours later. They couldn't save him. They have to do some testing, but best guess is that he got confused and took the wrong insulin that morning. He took the one he should only take at night, went hypoglycemic, and it killed him."

"Gosh, I'm so sorry, Harper."

"If I had prioritized someone who was clearly in danger, if I had cancelled my first appointment and gotten him the insulin he needed, or if I had at least gotten there sooner, maybe he'd still be alive," she murmured, dropping her face into her hands.

"Doll, you can't do that to yourself. Trust me," Bucky said gently. "You could have done everything different with the same result. You never know. And you can't save them all."

"I know I can't. Most people ultimately need to save themselves. But this time, I could've saved him."

Bucky pressed another kiss to her temple and pulled her closer to him as he leaned back into the corner of the couch. His metal hand gently buried itself in her hair, pressing her to lie against his chest. She allowed him to coax her into him, a sigh escaping her lips as she nuzzled a cheek against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. "Harper, it's not your fault he didn't make it. If you hadn't gone there this morning, he wouldn't have had any chance at all. He would've died in that apartment, in his vomit, and not been found for who knows how long. There's not dignity in that. You allowed him his best chance at survival given the situation, and he died in a clean environment where he could be properly cared for. That's not nothin'."

"I hadn't thought about it that way," she admitted. "You're not wrong."

"Doll, I've seen a lotta guys die in some nasty places, their bodies never to be returned to their families. That was a real fear for us. When you're staring death in the face, that stuff matters. A lot. You gave him dignity, and that's huge."

Harper turned enough to press a kiss to his shoulder. "Thank you, James."

"Thank you, Harper, for caring about the people that need it the most."

* * *

Blue eyes traced her form as Harper examined the array of mangoes at the fruit stand. She reached out, picking one up and turning it around in her hand. Her eyes were focused on the task, unaware that he was more focused on her. He was still on high alert in crowds, but it helped when she was around. His senses, heightened by his training as a soldier, Zola's experimentation, and decades as a lethal assassin, had a more positive, soothing focal point around Harper. Otherwise, it was easy to overload and to overanalyze in the packed marketplace.

With a few mangoes in her arms, Harper moved next to the plums. Bucky had noticed she'd started keeping her kitchen stocked with them since his affinity for the fruit had been revealed to her. Carefully, he relieved her of the mangoes so she could move around the small stand more effectively. She muttered an absent thanks, continuing her search for quality purchases.

It was Sunday morning, and he had spent the previous night with her, as had become habit. He smiled, thinking about what his mother or Steve would have thought about his weekly sleepovers, even if nothing improper was actually occurring. She had been cutting down her alcohol consumption after some more gentle encouragement, and he knew it was hard for her. It was nice, though, seeing Harper out on a Sunday without a hangover. She wore dark wash skinny jeans despite the heat, and simple sandals with a modest heel. A black band t-shirt completed the outfit. It was so unlike how he usually saw her dressed. Her work attire was mature and serious. When they went out, her clothes were much younger and edgier. Around her apartment, she was simple and comfortable, and often actually wore shorts. But somehow, this simple, casual look seemed to fit her, too, and he couldn't help but find her especially pretty in it.

Harper paid the vendor and they moved a few booths down to a vegetable tent. Lifting a turnip as if to estimate its weight, she asked, "Do you like eggplant?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted with a shrug.

"I'll make a few things and give you some when I see you Wednesday," she decided, already moving down the row to the oblong purple items.

Bucky followed dutifully, content to just be spending time with her. He wondered, sometimes, how she didn't get sick of him. They texted daily, and upheld their Wednesday coffee and lunch dates. They went out on some Fridays now, and he still always went over on Saturdays, spending the night. Then they spent a good chunk of Sunday together, too. He knew Harper was highly independent and also an introvert, and he questioned whether being around her and in her space so often would irritate her, as it was surely taking away from the time she took to recharge. But she never said anything to indicate she might actually feel that way, and he would continue to selfishly spend as much time with her as he could.

As Harper was rifling through a basket of onions, someone roughly bumped into him from behind, knocking shoulders. Immediately, all of his fight or flight alarms were blaring. He twisted to look at the person, who appeared to be a rushed local juggling an armful of artichokes and having a very heated conversation on the phone. The man threw some money down on the counter, snapping into the phone pinned between his face and shoulder. Bucky's entire body was tense. Was this a ruse? Were agents surrounding him? Were they closing in? Had the man bumped him to slip a tracker or a bug on him?

An arm slid through his metal one, hidden as always under a long sleeved shirt. His head snapped downward and saw that Harper's eyes were on him for the first time since entering the marketspace. Her expression was calm, stable. She was watching him, trying to gauge his stability, he was sure, even though he couldn't see that in her eyes. Her gaze was even, her hold on his arm firm enough to assure him she was there and loose enough to not constrict. If he didn't know her, didn't know what she did for work or how she well she understood him, he wouldn't have known how deeply she was engaged in ensuring he was alright after the incident. He slipped his left hand into hers, giving it a light squeeze. Harper grabbed an onion, paid, and led him to the next vendor. He appreciated that she wasn't giving up on the excursion, but that she also never dropped his hand.

* * *

"Is it true that all women have their ideal wedding planned before they ever even get engaged?"

"Of course not," Harper laughed, passing Bucky the large mammal previously sprawled across her lap. He set the displeased creature down in his own lap, scratching behind its ears as a peace offering. The old cat leaned into the weary soldier's touch. Even when Harper returned a moment later with a full wine glass and a bottle of beer, the cat stayed put in his lap.

The former soldier frowned and asked, "I thought you were trying not to drink?"

"It's sparkling cider," Harper replied with a glare. She thrust the beer bottle toward him, adding, "But thanks for checking."

"That lacked tact," Bucky admitted with a grimace.

"Little bit," she agreed, then softened with a sigh. "This hasn't been an easy lifestyle change to make, and it's really shitty that I'll have no idea if it's even helping until I've been doing it for at least a year or two."

"I know, doll, but you're doing really well."

"Thanks," she mumbled, eyes shifting back to the television. They were watching some Netflix show about cheap weddings, per Harper's insistence that they partake in something cringe-worthy. Shifting back to his previous question, the brunette said, "There may be times growing up or something when a girl thinks she knows what she wants her wedding to be like, but I feel like that can often change once you become an adult or definitely once there's the required other person in the picture."

"What about you?"

"Me? I've entertained a few ideas. When I was young, I was really into the idea of a beach wedding. As I got older, though, I decided I really like the aesthetics of a winter wedding. There are some seriously beautiful centerpieces you could do for a winter theme. But honestly? I'm not even sure I love the idea of a wedding at all anymore. For myself, anyway. It just seems like too much. Too much money, too much time, too much work…"

"Would you still want to get married and skip the bells and whistles?"

Harper shrugged. "Sure. I'm not opposed to the institute of marriage itself or anything, I just don't get the weight our society puts on it. Like… I can imagine myself being happy and married, and I can imagine myself being just as happy and unmarried, living with the right partner. All that changes is how we'd file our taxes, ya know? And even then, there's common law marriage that'd kick in eventually."

"That makes sense," Bucky nodded, eyes caught by a rather cheap, gaudy centerpiece being arranged on the television. "I probably should have figured as much."

"What're your feelings on the matter?"

"Similar to yours," he replied easily. "I used to think of it as a given, something that would definitely be part of my life. Now, nothing is a given, really. But I guess in a perfect world, all of the pizazz withheld, I'd still love to be married, to wear a ring and see a ring on her finger, too. To prove to myself that despite everything I can still be a husband, if not the perfect, provider type I had first imagined." He frowned, realizing something suddenly. Gazing down at his metal left hand, he muttered, "Although, there wouldn't really be much satisfaction in wearing a ring anymore."

"Couldn't you wear it on your right hand?" Harper asked, lacing her fingers with his flesh ones and lifting the hand as if to prove her point.

"That's not really traditional," he pointed out.

"Do you have to be?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "And anyway, I don't think anyone will think anything of it given the situation, hun."

"I know," he nodded. Avoiding her eyes, he admitted, "It's more me than what other people would think. Feels like something else I lost because of something I had no say in."

Harper gazed thoughtfully at his hands for several moments. Slowly, she asked, "Wouldn't it be sort of neat though, when you hold hands with your wife, that your rings would touch?"

She turned their laced hands toward his bright blue gaze. He noticed that the ring finger of his right hand curled around the ring finger of her left. It would bring the rings together, if worn that way. It was sort of a neat concept. Bucky glanced at Harper before saying, "It wouldn't be the same, but maybe it wouldn't be terrible to wear it on my right hand. I'd at least feel it that way."

He used the lock of their fingers to pull her hand toward him, settling a kiss on the back of her hand. A faint peach flush rose to her cheeks, and he couldn't help but smile. A matching peck was pressed to her cheek before she broke the hold of their hands and pushed him lightly. "Oh, shove off!"

"You wound me, doll," he smirked wickedly.

"You embarrass me," she retorted, sticking her lower lip out in the slightest of pouts.

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't so damn cute," he grinned, stealing a quick kiss and causing her blush to deepen, further proving his point.

* * *

"James, when's your birthday?"

"March 10th," Bucky answered, allowing her to make an assumption about the year.

"Well, shit, hun," Harper frowned. "I didn't realize I had missed it. I was thinking this morning that we've known each other for nearly a year, so I guess it shouldn't surprise me that it's already gone by."

"It's been a year already?"

Harper took a long sip from her tea before nodding. "Yeah, it was the very beginning of fall when we'd met. August is coming to a close, and soon we'll be in the comfortably cool days of September."

"So… well, I must've missed your birthday, too," Bucky realized with a deep frown. What kind of boyfriend was he that he hadn't even thought about her birthday?

"It was May 24th," she nodded. "But I don't really celebrate my birthdays. It feels sad. Sort of a reminder of another shit year passing at this point."

"I hear you," Bucky sighed. "Although, as years go, the past one has had a rather positive standout."

"Very true," Harper grinned. Bucky reached across the table and took one of her hands, gently running his thumb back and forth over her knuckles. The brunette smiled softly at the gesture before her expression shifted. "I just remembered! You know, I realized something else the other day. Not only did we never exchange birthdays, but I don't know that we ever even gave each other our full names. Things started out so weird between us, I know it took me a little while to assure myself you weren't some kinda thug or creep."

She laughed, and he forced himself to chuckle along, but Bucky felt no humor. He only felt panic. He couldn't tell her the truth; if she were to ever plug "James Barnes" into a search engine, he'd be willing to guess he would be the top hit, and the only hit that also had a high-tech prosthetic arm. Through a fake grin, he lied, "Yeah, weird. I didn't even realize."

"Anyway, my last name is Montgomery and my middle name is Ann. So there, that super basic info is finally out of the way."

"That's pretty," he couldn't help but smile. "Harper Ann Montgomery."

"I've often thought it sounds very… 'Pride and Prejudice' or something."

Bucky shook his head. "It's mature and pretty. A good fit."

"Maybe. Although, if you're about to tell me your last name is Darcy or something, I'll be totally on board without further annoyance with my pretentious name."

"Sorry to disappoint. My middle name is George, after my father, and my last name is Rogers," Bucky replied, trying to twist the truth with as little deviation as possible.

Harper nodded, clearly committing this new knowledge to memory. Bucky shifted uncomfortably. She observed, "That's a lot of first names strung together, but somehow has a hint of pretention as well. Team pretention, then."

"Team pretention," he agreed with a weak smile which he hoped covered up his guilt.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for the support. I am glad to see that perhaps the growing sexual tension is being well received. I will say things are going to keep progressing in that way as we move forward. The opening scene here with one of Harper's clients is loosely based on an experience of my own. Working in human services and social work is emotionally taxing, man. Anyway, I hope that these slices of Bucky and Harper's shared life are fun to read. Let me know what you think so far if you have the time. Thank you all again!


	19. Chapter 19

_ A simple mission. Get in. Remove the senator. Get out. No witnesses._

_ The soldier's well-trained body twisted and turned, slinked and darted by security cameras. The house was obscenely large and ornately decorated. The carpets were plush and exceptionally sound absorbent. The furnishings were lavish and pristine. Clearly, no expense had been spared in the interest of the taxpayers. This was all noted on the first sweep of bright blue eyes._

_ A second glance showed signs that the inhabitants of the house might not actually be sleeping despite the late hour. Passing by an office, a glass of water sat on a desk, condensing and puddling on the mahogany varnish. If the glass was still chilled enough to condensate, it was set there not long ago. There were no lights on, though. The assassin posited that the glass had been set down with the intention of doing some work in the office, but was forgotten upon its owner's change of heart. _

_ As he passed the kitchen, he saw a shadow moving sluggishly at the coffeepot. Blue eyes watched carefully. Just barely illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the window, he could make out the pale grey of a security guard's uniform. On silent feet, he moved forward in a crouch, ready to spring into action if need be. The guard finished preparing his coffee and took a deep sip. He let out a contented sigh and set the mug back on the counter. _

_ The assassin hooked his flesh arm around the man's neck, cybernetic hand clamping over his mouth and stifling his shriek of surprise. With a swift twist and tug, the man's neck gave. Silently, he lowered the body to the floor and exited the kitchen, again becoming a mere shadow travelling the halls. _

_ Finally, he located the master bedroom. He pushed the door open cautiously, and was relieved to see the senator had already retired to her bed. She was facing away from the door, and couldn't have been a more vulnerable target. Ghosting across the room, he noiselessly removed his weapon, silencer already equipped, from its holster. He loomed over the large bed, staring the target down. The slight dip in the mattress as he leaned forward and the feeling of the gun's barrel against the back of her head roused the senator from sleep before he pulled the trigger. The silk sheets swam with blood._

_ Two fingers confirmed the absence of a pulse before the assassin stood straight. Suddenly, from the doorway, a distraught voice announced, "Gramma, I had a nightmare!"_

_ The assassin looked up in time to see the little girl freeze upon finding him. She was all baby chub, pink cheeks, and bright, innocent eyes. Her red hair was a bed ruffled mess and a stuffed rabbit hung from her small hand. He approached her swiftly, and the child backed up, flight instincts alerted despite her young age._

_ Get in. Remove the senator. Get out. No witnesses._

_ He lifted his arm and gazed down the barrel of the gun before his finger squeezed the trigger._

Bucky shot up in bed. His stomach was churning, bile threatening to burn its way up his throat. Tears poured from his eyes and strangled sobs resonated in his chest. He was an absolute fucking _monster._

He became dimly aware that Harper had jumped up at his sudden movement, too. Slowly, she reached out to him and placed a cautious hand on his cybernetic arm. Suddenly, the thought of her touching the most dangerous part of him, a part of him so drenched in blood, was too much. His body moved independent of thought as he shoved her away before curling in on himself. His face buried into his knees as he tried to control the shaking of his body and the choking sobs in his throat.

"James, I'm really sorry," Harper said gently. "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have just reached out to you like that. I truly apologize. Is it okay if I touch you?"

Her words took a moment to process, but twisted his already delicate stomach. Frantically, he shook his head in the negative. She was too good for him, too precious for his evil touch.

"Alright," she replied easily. "If that changes, let me know, okay? Do you know who you are right now?"

Pressing his face harder into his knees, he managed a single, jerky nod. The tears were slowing, but the tension, guilt, shame, and panic were still racking his body.

Harper continued, "Do you know where you are?" Once she had been met with another nod, she asked, "And you know who I am?"

Bucky grunted his affirmation, eyes squeezing shut tight as he desperately tried to rein in all of his wild emotions and racing thoughts. He was a monster whose sins could never be atoned. Maybe he deserved to feel this way.

"Well, that's a relief. You know, I'm really happy you're able to come out of your flashbacks and reorient so quickly. I imagine it took you a lot of work to get to this point, and I admire your resilience."

The former assassin was equal parts baffled and comforted by her words. He was despicable; how could she admire anything about him? But she was so, _so_ _good_. Surely, if she saw anything positive about him, he might be at least a little redeemable?

"From everything you've told me, it actually seems like you've always been resilient. You've been through a lot, and you still keep pushing through every day. You have such a capacity for compassion and loyalty despite everything, too. That's a real show of strength."

They continued on this way for another several minutes before Bucky felt calm enough to begin loosening his muscles limb by limb. Finally, he sat beside her normally, now overrun by exhaustion and a whole new wave of guilt.

Unable to look up and too afraid to even look in her direction, he muttered, "I'm so sorry, Harper. I should've never… I never wanted… god, I'm so sorry I laid hands on you. Are you alright?"

"James, it's really okay. I'm completely fine," Harper assured gently. "I should've been more mindful of you."

He shook his head, burying his face in his hands. "It's my fault. Everyone I touch gets hurt. I shoulda never touched you. A man should never touch a woman like that. I'm so sorry, Harper, so sorry…"

"Can I touch you?" she asked quietly.

Slowly, committing himself to being safe with her, he nodded. Harper's arms came around him in a firm hug. She held him for several moments, neither of them moving or speaking. She tucked his hair behind his ear before returning her arm to the embrace. Lips brushing his shoulder, she whispered, "You're so strong and so brave, hun. In my eyes, you have nothing to apologize for. But I understand why you feel differently, and you're absolutely forgiven."

He didn't deserve forgiveness. Not from the many innocent people he had killed, or from their families. Not from Steve for everything that happened between them in D.C. Not from himself, knowing the full extent to which he had devolved into a mindless monster. And not from Harper, who he had been continuously lying to and who he had just been physical toward. Yet she gave it to him, easily and openly, firmly and assuredly. His chest tightened with warmth and a complex web of unnamable feelings.

Carefully, he let his head drop to her shoulder. She asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

He muttered a feeble negative. Her fingers threaded through his hair and they spoke no more.

* * *

Over the next several days, neither Bucky nor Harper mentioned the incident. However, in that time, he noticed Harper favoring her non-dominant arm and sometimes absently rubbing at her right shoulder while she worked or while they watched a movie. He realized with sheer horror that he must have bruised her when he pushed her. He couldn't bear to stay silent with this realization.

James: Harper, we need to talk. Are you free tonight?

Harper: Yes, I'm free. Is everything alright? Should I be worried?

James: Don't worry. I just need to talk to you. I'll grab food and meet you at your place?

Harper: Whatever you want, hun. I'll see you later.

The former assassin went through the rest of his day on autopilot. He fretted the entire day over how to broach the issue with Harper, agonizing over what he even wanted to come of the conversation. Was it safe for him to continue being with her? He hadn't forgiven himself for anything he had done as the Winter Soldier, but he'd been able to move forward, to become a productive, peaceful member of society, and most of the time he didn't dwell on his sins. But if he ever hurt Harper, _really _hurt her, he truly didn't think he could move on. She was absolutely undeserving of the risk of harm he presented. She was so truly good, so kind and caring, had experienced too much pain already. He couldn't hurt her. He wouldn't be another source of her pain.

* * *

Bucky arrived outside Harper's door just as nervous and confused as he had been all day. He held his breath and knocked. From inside, he heard approaching footsteps, an annoyed feline yowl, a hissed curse, and then the door opened. He released the breath he was holding as a chuckle, unable to remain tense with such a welcome.

Looking bashful, Harper explained, "Aslan hates when I step over him, and retaliates by swatting my feet. But he was lying in the path to the door so…"

She stepped aside and allowed him entry, tilting her chin upward to receive a greeting kiss. Bucky couldn't bring himself to give it, merely stepping into the living space. He didn't miss the flash of disappointment across her face.

"I brought salmon from Florin's," he explained, gesturing at the bag in his hand.

"Thanks, James," she replied, her cheer sounding rather flat. "It was so good last time we ate there."

"Should we talk first then eat, or multitask?" he asked, glancing nervously at the brunette.

"Honestly, I've been freaking out all day. Let's talk first, because I won't be able to eat feeling like this."

Bucky's expression fell and the guilt in his stomach hardened like a pit. "I'm sorry I made you worry, Harper."

"Let's sit," she suggested.

He nodded his agreement and they sat on the couch. She settled with her legs crossed beneath her and her back resting on the arm of the couch so that she could face him fully. Bucky clenched and unclenched his flesh hand apprehensively before biting the bullet. "Harper, the other night when I pushed you… did I hurt you?"

"James, we talked about this," she replied with a frown. "I'm fine."

"Your shoulder has been sore ever since." Harper tensed for just long enough to alert him that his assumptions had been correct. He continued, "I don't want to put you in a position where you could get hurt, least of all by me."

To his surprise, she rolled her eyes and then levelled him with a burning glare. "So this is a breakup conversation. You didn't have to make a consolation dinner out of it."

"What?" Bucky asked, taken aback. "I don't-"

"Oh, bullshit. Honestly, James, what is your desired outcome of this conversation? You text me out of the blue saying we need to talk, and you're opening this dialogue by saying that you don't want us to be in a position where you could hurt me. You're coming out of the breakup gates swinging."

"My desired outcome?" he repeated slowly. Blue eyes shifted to his hands, clenched atop his knees. "I guess I was hoping you'd calm me down like you always do. That you'd say the perfect thing as usual, erase all this guilt, and it'd be just as easy as always to be together."

"Don't you think that's a little unfair to me?" He looked up at her, surprised at the usually cool, collected young woman he had come to rely on. She heaved a sigh and explained, "James, you know I want to be there for you and support you in any way I can. And I intend to keep doing that so long as we're together in some capacity. But you can't come here expecting me to figure out how to avoid a breakup only you are considering!

"Was it sort of scary the other night? Yeah, absolutely. It was scary because I'd never seen you hurting like that before. I care about you, and to see your pain and your distress was alarming. It wasn't because you pushed me. I'm the one who's literally trained to handle things like that, and I triggered you anyway. I take ownership of that, and place none of the blame on you. It never even crossed my mind that we would be having a conversation about breaking up because of this, just that I needed to be better should it ever happen again. So to expect me to figure out a way to avoid a breakup that wasn't even a consideration of mine is unfair."

Feeling chastised and wholly overwhelmed, Bucky was silent. His eyes traced her face, noting the upset flush to her cheeks and the wetness building in her red-brown eyes. Her dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders. He reached for a lock idly with his metal hand, letting the sleek metal contrast against the espresso strands. Finally, he admitted, "I hadn't thought of it that way. I guess… I know I'm more reliant on you than I should be, but I didn't think about how unfair that is to you."

She lifted her own hand, catching his and lacing the cool metal digits with her own warmer ones. More gently, she corrected, "That's not what I meant. I rely on you a lot, too. More than I should, and more than I've ever allowed myself to rely on someone else. What I meant is that in this relationship, I can't bear the full burden of keeping us together. To me, this is a partnership; if you have an issue, you can't expect me to single-handedly resolve it for you."

He nodded and sighed. "You're right. Okay, so let's resolve this."

"Okay," she agreed, settling their joined hands on her knee. "What're you thinking? Where is this coming from?"

Bucky looked away, shame flaring on his cheeks. "I don't deserve you. And you don't deserve the risk I pose. That's what I'm thinking."

"You've always been so caught up with 'deserving,'" she gave him a smile that was equal parts sad and fond. "Don't erase my agency with your perception of what I deserve, James."

"It's hard not to when you don't know a fraction of what I've done," he muttered, staring at his lethal hand held by her much smaller one.

"James, are you talking about anything you did under your own free will, or is all this guilt for things you were ordered to do?"

"Just because it wasn't my will, doesn't absolve my having done those things."

"Maybe that isn't enough to forgive yourself, but to me it makes a difference. If you got your jollies causing harm to people or animals, or were like sexually aggressive or some shit, then yeah, we'd have a whole lot of issues. But all I can see is a wonderful, kind man who has been deeply hurt by other people forcing his hand." Harper smiled softly down at their clasped palms. "And despite all that pain, this man once told me he wished he could empathize with my experience of pain, too."

His chest was tight, touched and guilty for the clear affection she held for him. "That nightmare I had the other night? I was sent on a mission with orders to leave no witnesses. A child saw me."

It wasn't hard for Harper to draw the clear conclusion. She said nothing for a moment, and he couldn't read her expression. A moment later, she said, "That must have been so awful for you, James. I'm sorry you were put in that position."

"Can you really feel that way? It doesn't bother you that you were sharing your bed with someone reliving the memory of shooting a young girl?"

Harper sighed and replied, "James, it's nothing short of tragic the lives that are lost in wars and conflicts. But from what I can see, yours was a casualty, too."

He couldn't look at her anymore, his eyes rapidly welling with tears. "An insufficient price to pay."

"I'm not trying to convince you to share my feelings on this, in no small part because I know that isn't something I can do for you. I'm just trying to get you to see things from my point of view. I feel we've gotten a little off track. So you've been thinking about the feasibility of us being together because you feel you're a risk to my wellbeing, and because, in your view, you're undeserving of being with me."

"Basically. I don't ever want to hurt you again, Harper."

"Then perhaps my response is relatively clear. I don't like imposing the concept of 'deserving' on us. To me, you've been an incomparable force of positivity in my life. I was really fucking low when we met, and you truly help keep me afloat, and I'm happy with you. This is an ideal kind of partnership to me. If it's not for you, then I'd say we have a bigger issue at hand. In regards to your concerns for my safety, perhaps we simply need some ground rules to alleviate your worries?"

"I can't even tell you how happy you make me, Harper. That's definitely not the issue," he assured earnestly. After a moment he added, "Rules could help."

"Okay. What would make you feel safer should something like that ever happen again?"

"Just… please keep your distance when I'm in it. If I can reach you, you're too close. If I move toward you, do everything you can to get away. You won't be able to fight me off, so just… make sure I can't get to you."

"That's reasonable," Harper agreed. "Was it okay the way I was speaking with you?"

"That helped," he admitted. "And Harper… if the rules aren't effective enough, then I really don't know that I could agree to this kind of risk again. I'm selfish, I want you so badly, and I hate the idea of not being with you, but ultimately, I want you to be safe more than I want to be happy."

She scooted closer, nestling into his side. With his hand clasped between both of hers, she assured, "We'll both be alright, James."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the continued support. I would really appreciate feedback if you have the time. I find it difficult to gauge whether things are working or not without some sort of interface with those reading my stories. Thoughts on my portrayal of Bucky? What about Harper? Are things moving to slowly? Any feedback would be amazing. Thank you again!


	20. Chapter 20

Content Warning: Adult situations.

* * *

"Oh my gosh, James! Put me down!"

Bucky acknowledged Harper with only a hearty laugh. He continued his way up the stairs, the pretty brunette still securely thrown over his shoulder.

"I hate it when you do this!" she continued to protest, though she had stopped squirming.

"C'mon, doll. You said your shoes were murder on your feet; indulge my solution to your problem," he replied with a wide, mischievous grin.

With irritation clear in her voice, she snapped, "I said that as part of a request to wait a minute so I could take them off before we walked up the stairs! Not so you'd carry me up!"

"Well, we're almost there now, so don't worry about it."

"I will worry about it," Harper grumbled.

"Key," Bucky requested, reaching a hand back to accept the item from her. He made quick work of letting them into her apartment, skillfully preventing a feline prison break in the process. "Why worry about it?"

"We've been through this," she hissed. "I know I'm not light, and even if you insist it's not an issue for you, it makes me feel like shit."

He frowned and said, "I didn't want to upset you."

A sigh. "I know."

"You're really a beautiful girl, darlin'," he assured. Then, wondering if a more overtly flirtatious route might lighten he mood, he added, "Besides, I'm not sure I've ever gotten this close to your ass."

He steadied her legs with his left hand, reaching up with his right to lightly smack her bottom, available as it was due to her still being draped over his shoulder. His fingers lightly squeezed a palm full of rounded flesh appreciatively.

"James!" Harper cried out in surprise.

He chuckled again, leaning forward and sliding her back onto her feet. "I've never been an ass man, but I can appreciate a cute one all the same."

Her face was flushed a brilliant scarlet. To hide her embarrassment, she kept up the annoyed façade, hitting him with a firm, "Really? I figured you must've been an ass guy since you haven't even tried to touch my tits since our night at the river. Two months ago!"

Blue eyes darkened with wicked excitement. "Shall we change that?"

"You gonna dirty talk me a little?" she asked coyly. "This hasn't been the most titillating conversation."

"Oh, clever use of pun, darlin'." With that, Bucky had thrown her back on his shoulder. She made no complaints this time as he hastened to her bedroom.

"Door before Aslan gets in."

"You don't want an audience?"

She chuckled and answered, "Not tonight and not of the feline variety."

He tossed her onto her bed, quickly crawling across the mattress to hover over her. With a cocky grin, he asked, "But it's not out of the question? An audience? Some pervs who have to settle for living vicariously through me?"

"Would you really want them looking?"

"Well, I'd get to show 'em you're mine," he grinned, gently tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "And if it got you wet, I'd try a lotta things."

Her cheeks flamed and she said, "I forgot how filthy that mouth can be."

Sobering, he asked, "Is that okay? How dirty is it acceptable for me to get?"

"Nothing derogatory, and I especially hate the 'c' word," she answered firmly. "Otherwise, go for it?"

"Okay," he nodded his understanding. Then, hesitating, he added, "I don't know how far you're expecting or willing to go tonight, but this isn't the night to go all the way for me. I don't have any condoms, and I don't want our first time together to be on the heels of our first sorta fight."

"Agreed," Harper nodded. "Plus, I'm not on birth control. Hormones makes me feel like absolute shit. Otherwise, I'm not real sure how far I want to go. I'll keep you posted."

Bucky returned her nod. "Deal. Now, give me those pretty lips. They've been teasing me all night. _Fuck_, that purple is sexy."

"I'll keep in mind that you like it. I think it might look good on your dick, too."

Bucky groaned, blood rushing to the aforementioned body part. He hissed, "Nasty girl."

Their lips connected, all teeth and tongues. It was easily the roughest, sloppiest kiss they had shared. He always tried to be gentle with her, to be proper and respectful. He'd always been pointedly polite with women. Evidently, he kept forgetting that he was in a new time, with a whole different type of woman than any he'd been with before. Harper commanded respect and to be treated as his equal, surely. But perhaps there was a deeper, much more sexual side to her that he hadn't even considered existing. It almost pained him how much he might've been missing out on.

Breaking for air, he blew softly on her ear. Huskily, he asked, "You could wear any color so long as those lips were working my cock."

His flesh hand groped at her breast, thumb teasing at the nub hidden from his touch beneath layers of fabric. Bright brown eyes met his, and despite the blush still staining her cheeks, she replied resolutely, "Not tonight. You've been holding back on me and need to make up for that."

"A mistake I won't repeat with such a reward," he promised. "This is a pretty shirt, but I think we could do without it, don't you?"

His keen gaze caught the crack in her confidence from the brief falter in her expression. Bucky reached to the bedside table and turned the lamp on before quickly crossing the room and turning the overhead lights off. Returning to the bed, he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, teasingly tickling them up her side. She squirmed when he got to her ribcage, but not in discomfort.

"Oh, I'm going to remember that you're ticklish," he grinned devilishly. "But that's for another night."

Carefully, he lifted her shirt up and she helped the process of sending it to the floor. Blue eyes almost immediately landed on the indigo contusion he had left on her. It was the size of a plum and was situated beneath the left side of her collarbone, close enough to her shoulder that it would be agitated by the movement of her arm. It was ringed in yellow, indicating the healing process had already begun.

Seeing the mark he had left on her, he doubled down on his resolve that the night would be about her. His hands roamed the supple hourglass of her torso, cock twitching at finally seeing her curves in all their glory. She wore a simple black bra; nothing fancy, but no fanfare was needed. Her ample cleavage and full, round globes of flesh were wonderful enough on their own.

"I'm the one who's been holding out on you?" he asked, lifting a brow in challenge. "You're the one who keeps this sexy body hidden."

Their lips met again, desperate, hard, and hot. His hands alternated kneading each breast before they continued to roam. His palms glided over her soft skin, tracing her curves, squeezing her hips. His lips moved downward, tongue poking out to lave at the elegant column of her neck between nips and kisses. Gently, his right hand slipped beneath her back, out of practice fingers fumbling until he was able to unhook her bra clasp. He heard her breath hitch slightly. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the straps down her arms, lips trailing close behind. With a look at her pretty brown eyes to make sure she was still feeling alright, he finally divested her of the cumbersome article of clothing.

"Fuck," he groaned appreciatively. "Maybe I'd happily let the pervs watch. More men need to have a reference for a perfect pair of-"

"Shut up," she snapped, embarrassment painting her cheeks again.

"Shush," he scolded. "Don't you think it'd be a good idea to share 'em? Would you like that, Harper?"

Biting her lip, she gave a single nod. The clenching of her thighs gave away her continued approval of his words. He finally brought his hand to her bare skin. She was a beautiful balance between soft and pliant and deliciously firm. He flicked her nipple with his index finger. "Does the thought of other men seeing you have your nipples hard, doll? Making you horny? What else would you be willing to show?"

"Fuck, James," she breathed, bright brown eyes squeezing closed. Her hand found its way into his hair, tangling in the long dark strands.

A sharp breath hissed between her teeth when he tapped the other nipple back and forth with his metal thumb. The slight cool and the unrelenting brush against her sensitive peak drew a soft, breathy noise from her throat and her thighs clamped even more. Not stopping his work with his cybernetic hand, he trailed slow, open mouthed kisses down her neck and along the valley between her breasts.

Looking up at her from below her heaving mounds, he asked, "What now, doll? You want me to lick and suck on these perfect tits? I see you trying to put some pressure on that pretty pussy, trying to get some relief. What'll make you squeeze those sexy thighs even tighter?"

"Oh my god," she breathed, head falling back on the pillows as she squirmed at his words. "Shit, I…"

Her voice cut off as he set about teasing the neglected nipple with the tip of his tongue. Blowing on it gently, he watched her shiver beneath him. "I love it, doll. So responsive to me."

The former soldier laved his tongue across her skin, working his way over the firm globe of flesh, over the soft rise of her collarbone, up the arched line of her neck, resting near her ear. Voice deep and gruff with lust, he muttered, "I think I'd be more than okay with an audience of pervs seeing you."

Slowly, giving her time to stop him, the digits of his right hand fingered the waistband of her jeans. Cautiously, he flicked the button open and pulled the fabric down over her hips. She shimmied slightly, helping him remove the fabric entirely. She was still beneath him, anxiously anticipating his next move. His little finger danced circles around her hip bone as the other fingers slowly delved beneath the fabric of her simple black underwear. Blue eyes studied her face for a moment before he continued, "In fact, I'd want them to see. To open you up to them, so they'd all know how fucking wet you get for me."

His index finger found her clit, his middle finger dipping down and discovering just how wet she actually was. A full, breathy sigh parted her lips. He swiped up some of her moisture, bringing it up to the sensitive jewel his finger was running lazy circuits around. Sweat was beginning to bead at her hairline, and her face seemed to be permanently tinted red.

"Feel good, doll? You like it when I touch you like this?" Her only answer was a slight arch to her back as he grazed the nub with his finger. "Have you been neglecting your poor little clit, Harper? It's so needy for attention."

The new wave of heat and arousal that he slicked his fingers with was proof enough of how well the dirty talk was working on her. He worked the sensitive button, tracing it and rolling it between his fingers, all the while loving watching her come undone. His middle finger dipped down to tease at her opening. Her hand suddenly shot out, fingers curling tightly around his metal bicep to stabilize herself.

"James," she whimpered. "Oh, god!"

"C'mon, doll, you can do it. You're real close, right?"

"I don't know, I – shit – James!" she stuttered, head falling back to her pillow. "Too much, too much…"

He faltered and asked, "Am I hurting you? Are you too sensitive?" When she breathed out an answer in the negative, he wondered, "Or are you gonna cum?"

Harper merely hummed, thighs squeezing tight around his wrist. He moved his fingers faster, more firmly, urging, "C'mon, Harper, let go. You're so fucking sexy. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum from just my fingers."

Her body tensed suddenly, her lower back arching just slightly off the mattress. Her head tilted back, lips parting with a shaky breath. Slowly, the tightness left her body and she was left trying to catch her breath beneath him. He carefully removed his hand from her underwear, being sure not to jostle her highly sensitive womanhood. With his metal hand, he pushed back some of the hair laying damp on her forehead. Blue eyes soft and tender, he asked, "You okay, doll?"

She nodded, cheeks darkening to a deeper shade of crimson. "A bit embarrassed now, honestly, but holy shit, James."

"What has you embarrassed?" he asked, brows knitting with concern.

She chuckled, "Well, being almost completely naked, having gotten so horny from being spoken to like that, and having just cum so easily are certainly contributing factors."

"Darlin', don't be embarrassed about those things," Bucky replied gently, with slow, affectionate strokes of her hair. "You're so fucking beautiful, doll. And I wouldn't say you came easily; totally normally, really. It did take time to warm up and make the climb before you got there. Do you mean it was easy 'cause I didn't finger you or sumthin'?"

Harper's cheeks darkened prettily. "Yeah, basically."

"No point unless I know it'll get you off," he explained. "Figured if I could figure out how your bean likes bein' flicked it'd get ya there. If we were fucking tonight, I woulda fingered you. Do you particularly enjoy penetration?"

"Not as a preference, no," she admitted. "I just figured… you'd wanna?"

"I just want you to feel good," he assured. With more vulnerability, he added, "Thank you for trusting me to do all of this with you, and to see you. I haven't had anyone in my life for a long time that could trust me not to hurt them, that allowed me to see them in an honest, open way."

"Of course I trust you," Harper declared, eyes staring up at him fondly. "I care about you."

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Bucky continued, "Also, don't feel embarrassed about liking dirty talk. It wasn't something I ever felt I could really experiment with when I used to date, and it turns out that it works for me, too."

Cinnamon brown eyes flicked down to the bulge in his jeans, widening with realization. "Oh, shit, James, I'm sorry! I was being so selfish, I… Do you want me to…?"

"No, darlin', I can take care of myself tonight. You already came, and I'm gonna be quick. Do you want me to go to the bathroom, or can I kiss you and touch you a little more while I finish here?"

"You can stay here," she nodded.

"C'mere," he requested, offering her a hand. She took it and allowed him to pull her up and into his chest. He wrapped his metal arm around her bare torso, groaning at the warmth of her bare skin. With his other hand, he reached down and quickly undid the button and zip of his jeans, freeing his throbbing cock. Harper reattached their lips, her fingers crawling up his chest and curling around his shoulders. He pulled her into his lap, careful to position her with some distance from his member, but close enough to pull her forward into his chest. Her nipples pressed into him through the fabric of his thin shirt, driving him to finally reach down and wrap his palm around himself.

The kiss was deep, sloppy, and desperate. He tasted her, drank his fill of her, as their tongues entwined, lips bruised, and teeth nipped. Curling around her more fully, his metal hand snaked around her ribcage, moving to cover her breast. She arched into the slightly cool touch and his hand sped up.

Harper pulled back enough to meet his lusty gaze. One of her hands covered his cybernetic one, coaxing him to take a firmer grip. Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes were determined. "Do what you need to, hun. I'm all yours."

Bucky hissed a breath between tightly clenched teeth. "Squeeze those pretty tits together and give 'em to me. I wanna taste them."

His lips never got the chance to meet her flesh. Bright blue eyes watched raptly as she cupped her full breasts in her hands, pushing them together like he'd asked. Gazing up at him, she tweaked her own peaks, and the sight was too much. He came with a groan, aiming himself just in time to catch his release against the bottom hem of his shirt rather than on her. His fingers passed up and down his shaft a few more times, and was finished.

"Fuck, Harper, you're so sexy," he groaned, pressing a kiss to her temple. He tucked his member back into his pants quickly, lest he make her uncomfortable. Nuzzling his nose into her hair, he asked, "Do I have any more t-shirts here by chance?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "Throw that one in the washer and it'll be clean and won't take long to dry in the morning."

He couldn't help the hesitation, which Harper picked up on immediately. "What's wrong, hun? Besides, if you want me to stay not so dressed, you're gonna have to join me."

"You haven't seen my shoulder before," he answered meaningfully.

She gave him a small smile and said, "Well, you hadn't seen my tits before."

He smirked wryly. "Well, your tits are pretty. My shoulder isn't."

Still straddling his lap, her fingers slipped just barely beneath the hem of his t-shirt. The careful digits skimmed and tickled his skin, but didn't venture much higher. "James, remember how nervous you were about me seeing your arm? But everything was fine. Your arm is part of you, your shoulder is part of you, and I care about you. A whole hell of a lot."

"Yeah, okay," he nodded slowly, breathing deeply through his nose. Her fingers traced the ridges of his defined abdominal muscles before gently tugging at the t-shirt. He complied, slipping his arms from the sleeves and allowing her to pull the fabric off over his head without any of the sticky white getting in his hair.

Blue eyes watched closely as Harper meticulously folded the shirt around the drying substance. With that thoroughly concealed, she set the shirt aside and met his gaze. Her hand rose and he flinched automatically in anticipation. She frowned and looked slightly hurt by his reaction. Her hand continued to move however, coming to cup his cheek, rather than his shoulder as he had expected. Slowly, her thumb swiped back and forth over his skin, drawing heat to the surface.

"Sorry," he muttered, ashamed that he had assumed she would have been so intrusive and insensitive.

"Shh, it's fine," Harper assured softly. "Do you want to head straight to bed?"

The former soldier could read between the lines easily and considered the true question hidden there. Did he want to turn all the lights off and avoid facing her, or did he want to bear this vulnerable part of himself to her? He lowered his eyes to avoid her kind ones, unintentionally staring down at her body, still perched in his lap. Her pretty, pert breasts were still open to his gaze, nipples pink and at attention. The hourglass curves of her sides were still free for his appreciation. And the little pocket of extra weight at her lower tummy that he knew she was incredibly self-conscious of was also visible. He paid no mind to the latter feature; he genuinely felt it was part of what made her so curvy and sexy. But she was unhappy with that aspect of her body and had been willing to share it with him. Plus, still braced on either side of him, were her gorgeous, full thighs. She wasn't confident in her legs, either, but had let that wall down many months ago when she first allowed him to see her in shorts.

"No, we can wait a few to go to bed," he answered finally. He lifted his eyes to meet hers again. "Go ahead."

His chest tightened with emotion when her eyes remained on his and she leaned forward to cover his lips with a slow, tender kiss. When they parted, she gifted him with a few quick pecks before finally pulling away fully. Her eyes moved downward, and he was incredibly uncomfortable, knowing she was taking in the vast web of colloidal scars forming a starburst of reds, pinks, and whites around his cybernetic arm. The thick band of scar tissue forming the seam between his fleshy shoulder socket and the cool metal was difficult to look at, he knew. Plus the thick tendril of damaged tissue crawling across his broad pectoral wasn't easy on the eyes, either.

"Is this all from the fall?" she asked quietly, as if afraid of startling him again.

"A mixture of the fall and a really shoddy job removing what was left of the arm," he answered, unable to hold back a grimace.

To her credit, Harper made no significant reaction to his revelation. Nor did she lament over his clear trauma, or otherwise make any sort of fuss over him. She merely mapped out the scarring with her eyes before tucking a lock of dark hair behind his ear. Her lips found his again and they shared an ardent, lingering kiss. She draped her arms over his shoulders, hands clasping loosely between his shoulder blades. Her body pressed into his, her soft curves flattening deliciously against his hard muscle, her smooth skin intimately caressing his scarred body.

When they pulled away, Bucky rested his forehead on hers. Their breaths mingled in the space between them. Knowing she would understand, he simply muttered, "Thank you."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, favorites, and follows. I appreciate the support! More than ever, I'd really like some feedback. This is definitely the spiciest scene I've ever actually uploaded anywhere. Was it too much? Awkward? Not enough? I've edited this chapter so much trying to not be too wild while also showing the really down and dirty Bucky I think he'd be behind closed doors. If it's too much, PLEASE let me know. I can definitely make many more edits to tone it down and can make changes to future chapters to reflect that as well. Thank you agan!


	21. Chapter 21

Bucky awoke pleasantly naturally. No alarms, no texts, no nightmares, no wailing cats. Just the gentle pull from sleep he didn't often experience. When his vision came into focus, he was greeted with the view of Harper's bare back. A smiled lifted his lips, blue eyes drifting lazily over the smooth, pale skin. He mapped out the freckles, appreciated the gentle slopes of her shoulder blades. Her espresso hair tumbled in messy waves across the pillow and her shoulders, her arms tucked out of sight below her head. The comforter pooled above her hips, hiding from view her bare legs. They had gone to bed both donning only their undergarments, which had been an overall positive change. He liked feeling closer to her, despite the vulnerability he had to experience.

Shyness about his body was something entirely new to him. He had been confident before enlisting, and had been even more confident after going through army training. Women were always attracted to him, and being an object of female desire had filled him with self-satisfaction and fed his ego. Now, however, his body was a product of experimentation. He had a machine designed to kill fused to him. And the scarring across his left shoulder and chest wasn't attractive; it was a result of his arm being shorn off his body, of the remaining flesh being shoddily removed, of the skin having been stretched taught to accommodate merging with the metal arm. It was all a reminder of too much pain, a tangible testament to one of the most hellish experiences of his very long life, and he hadn't been sure how to let someone see all of that.

The dark haired man wanted little more than to trace his fingers up and down her spine, to feel this new expanse of skin. But he didn't want to wake her; her life was busy and stressful, and sleep was well deserved. Any peace she could get should be protected, especially after the fight he'd basically caused a couple days prior. He didn't regret the argument, as his concerns for her wellbeing were well founded and needed to be worked out, but he admittedly went about the discussion without direction or tact. He was lucky that she was a particularly skilled communicator, and that she understood his emotional and communicative shortcomings.

The former soldier was able to enjoy lying beside the young social worker in calm silence for a little while longer before he heard the change in her breathing. A tiny groan was muffled by her pillow in her adorable last ditch effort to hang on to sleep that always turned Bucky's lips. He watched as she lifted her head, one hand sneaking beneath her hair to rub at her eyes. Slowly, she turned to look at him, letting her head fall back to the pillows, her hair tumbling down her back with the movement.

"Morning," she greeted sleepily.

"Morning, doll," he repeated with a warm smile. "Sleep well?"

She hummed her affirmative answer, eyes fluttering closed again. "You?"

"I did," he answered. With a wicked grin, he added, "I was pretty well spent."

Pink dusted her cheeks. "It's too early to tease me."

"I disagree, but you win this time," he allowed. He reached out and finally indulged his desire to run his palm up and down her back. Her skin was warm and soft, the curve of her spine as tantalizing as any of the other slopes and valleys of her body. Harper let out a sigh through her nose, body remaining totally relaxed beneath his touch. As his fingers waltzed down her spine, he marveled again at how much genuine trust she had in him.

"Are we okay after everything that's happened in the past few days?" he asked.

Harper's eyes met his. "I sure hope we're alright since you had your hand in my pants last night."

He couldn't help but laugh, her blunt comment relieving him of the last of his worries. His arms curled around her, pulling her into him. With another chuckle, he pecked her lips and bumped the tip of his nose against hers.

* * *

Harper: Remind me why I gave up drinking?

James: To decrease the frequency and severity of your incapacitating, painful cluster headaches?

Harper: Ah. Right. Thank you.

James: Tough day?

Harper: Exceedingly. My colleague had a personal emergency, but a baby needed to be removed from one of her families today. Lucky me, I had an office day, so I was free to fill in for her.

James: Geez, doll, I'm real sorry. That sounds like a really hard thing to do.

Harper: It is. But it was worse than usual because the dealing father got so pissed off, we had to get the police involved.

James: Are you alright?

Harper: Yeah, stuff like that just shakes me up a little bit. Normally, I'd have a couple drinks to calm down, but… Well, you know that option is out.

James: Want me to come over?

Harper: No, that's okay. Just hearing from you makes me feel better.

James: I wish you weren't in danger on the job, doll.

Harper: It's super atypical that I am.

James: All the same. It's stressful and sad; you shouldn't have to worry about your wellbeing, too.

Harper: Maybe not, but it is what it is. One of the customers of the baby's dealer daddy was so tweaked out the other day that they knocked the basinet over. Either I went in and took him out, or he would be at risk and defenseless another day. Someone has to intervene, whenever possible, for those who can't defend themselves.

James: You sound so much like Steve sometimes.

Harper: Bet we'd get along.

James: I'm sure you would.

Harper: Think we'll ever get the chance?

James: Doubtful.

Harper: Do you ever plan on trying to go back home?

James: I don't know what the plan is.

Harper: If I managed to find a way back to the States, what would we do?

James: I'm not sure.

Harper: Would you consider coming with me?

James: I'd consider a lot of things. My feelings for you among them.

Harper: Oof. This sounds a lot heavier than what I have the capacity to handle tonight. Can I take a raincheck on this conversation, even though I'm the one that started it?

James: Of course. Take it easy, okay?

Harper: Thanks, hun.

* * *

A couple months passed, and things were good. For once, winter being on the horizon didn't seem so terrible. Harper was excited that in a mere few weeks, Christmas would be upon them. She was a rather odd mixture of being extra cheerful and extra stressed. Work picked up around the holidays; they were triggering for a lot of the people she saw. But she had gotten a couple little knickknacks for her apartment, and had been especially excited about the matching stockings she had gotten for them. She even whipped out the glitter and etched their names on their respective coal receptacles. His life wasn't perfect, but it was much better than he could've imagined it being, and he was happy.

"You've almost converted me to liking the cold, doll," Bucky smirked, amusement shining in his eyes.

"Oh?" she questioned, quirking a brow flirtatiously. "How so?"

"You're so damn pretty in your winter wear," he answered, swooping down to press a kiss to her temple. He pulled her in closer by the anchor if his arm around her waist.

Harper let out a laugh and said, "Really? There's a whole lot of fabric in my winter wear and even more black items than my summer wardrobe."

Blue eyes roaming her form, he had to admit that was technically correct. Her staple outfit, well represented that evening, was a black shift dress, though most of the one currently draped on her form was covered by her black peacoat. Opaque, shiny black tights covered her legs, disappearing into tall boots. The back of the boots were corset tied, purely for aesthetics, and they had just enough of a heel to them. She also sometimes wore ankle boots, but he admittedly liked these that hit a little below the knee much better. Her winter apparel was overall feminine and suggested at her figure while still being dark and modest and definitively Harper.

"Maybe, but I like the tights and boots. The combination is super sexy."

She laughed again and her hand covered his perched above her hip. "You know, it still genuinely blows my mind that someone like you could ever find me attractive."

Bucky bumped another kiss to her temple. "Then I mustn't be telling you often enough."

"Sto-op," she whined, playfully shoving his side with her free hand. "You're too nice to me.

"No way. Just because I'm the only man sensible enough to tell you how sexy you are doesn't mean I'm being too nice."

"James, I hate the 'S' word," Harper pouted, brown eyes rolling upward to look at him.

"I'll have to say that more often, too. Familiarity breeds acceptance."

"You're such a pain in my ass," she sighed with no true contempt in her voice.

"Oh, darlin', now we get to talk about your ass? What a great night it's shaping up to be!" he chortled.

She smirked up at him and titled her chin upward, bringing her lips as close to his ear as she could given their height difference. "Sorry, hun, nobody's actually getting near this ass. That's a no-go zone, even for your incredibly hot self."

The conversation opened up to filthy jest, Bucky grinned wickedly. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he breathed, "That's fine; I have a feeling that I wouldn't ever tire of that wet pussy anyway."

Her face flamed red and she shoved him again. "James!"

He burst into laughter, feeling younger and so much more like the oldest version of himself than he had in a long time. Chest warm with happiness, it was without any thought that he replied, "Gosh, I love you, Harper."

She froze, forcing him to stop walking, too. He registered the look of surprise on her face. In that moment, he grasped two things. Firstly, he realized what he had said. Secondly, he knew that it was true. That maybe he had for quite a while. It wasn't how the traditionalist in him would have ever wanted to confess his feelings to her, but it had flown from his lips so honestly, so naturally, he couldn't even be upset with himself for letting it slip. People walked around them on the sidewalk, mildly annoyed at their inconvenient stopping place, but neither noticed.

Slowly, Harper asked, "Do you mean that… casually? Like… just as a friendly saying?"

"No," he shook his head. "I mean it."

Another couple seconds passed before the shock began to disappear from her expression. A genuine smile tilted her lips. Squeezing the hand she still held on her hip, she declared, "I love you, too."

His heart sang, her words striking him at the core. He hadn't ever exchanged the sentiment with a woman before. He had heard many confessions, but none of his past dating life had come close to the real thing. Maybe he didn't deserve it then, lady's man that he was, but he certainly didn't deserve it now. Yet, as always, Harper gave it to him – gave him a huge piece to the puzzle of feeling whole and normal again. He never wanted to be apart from her, he wanted her happiness no matter what that would mean. It wasn't easy to describe the feelings flooding his senses, but he knew instinctively that it was love for her and sheer gratitude that she felt that way for him.

At the same time, they moved in closer, lips connecting. It was warm, simple, wonderful. The kiss was lingering, and closely followed by another peck to her temple. With a fond smile, Bucky said, "C'mon, doll. We'll miss the movie."

* * *

"Merry Christmas, Harper," Bucky greeted, placing a kiss on her lips.

"Merry Christmas, James," she reciprocated with a huge grin.

"You look so freaking sexy, doll," he complimented, blue eyes roaming her up and down.

"Stop with the 'S' word!" she waved him off, but he caught the small, satisfied smile turning her lips before she turned away. He had the distinct feeling that she had chosen her outfit with him in mind. Not that she generally dressed to suit his tastes, but perhaps this evening she had wanted to pique his interest. And piqued it certainly was. In true Harper style, she wore a black dress. However, this one was unlike the usual simple shift dresses she wore. Instead, it was a bit more fitted, hugging her in all the right places, but skimming her body in others that he knew made it more comfortable for her to wear with confidence. It had long sleeves with cold shoulder cut-outs, the peek of skin tantalizing. The neckline was square and not especially low, but the shape and the fit of the dress being a bit tighter at the bust framed and accentuated the swell of her breasts and the glimpse of cleavage on display. Her legs were not covered by her usual black tights, but rather by a new pair of black over the knee boots. They were plain and looked like a soft suede material. The heels were several inches high and the material clung to her shapely legs. Her face was neutrally made up aside from the dark purple lip that he had long since realized was her favorite, as well as his.

His eyes were drawn repeatedly back to the four or so inches of bare thigh between the bottom hem of her dress and the tops of the boots. They were so deliciously full and smooth, and he suddenly was hit by thoughts of himself between them, the boots still on. He shivered involuntarily thinking of those heels digging into his backside as an act of encouragement.

Bucky followed Harper into the kitchen, eyes still glued to her as she bent to check on the contents of the oven. "Would you mind not drinking tonight? I just feel like the holidays are really hard without anything to take the edge off, and I'm not sure I can take watching someone else partake when I can't."

"Of course, darlin'," he assured. "You don't need to keep beer or anything here for me."

Harper propped her hip up against the counter and crossed her arms around her middle with a sigh. Looking at the floor, she muttered, "It honestly doesn't usually bother me. I've just been having a hard time lately."

Bucky moved forward, wrapping his arms around her gently. "It's okay, doll. No booze. What can I do to make you feel better?"

Her arms lifted to return his embrace, her fingers bunching up the fabric of his thermal shirt over his back. "You're here, and that's more than enough."

"You sure? What's got you down, darlin'?"

"I just really miss my family," she muttered.

"Harper," he breathed, holding her tighter.

She sniffled before gently pulling away. "I'm gonna take a minute. Can you take the chicken out of the oven, please?"

He nodded agreeably, watching her exit the kitchen and head toward her bedroom. Bucky donned her grey oven mitts and pulled the glass baking dish covered in foil from the oven as she'd requested. The former soldier dragged his fingers through his hair. Five minutes ago he could think of nothing but fucking her, and yet Harper was hurting. How out of touch _was_ he?

* * *

Belly full of Harper's cooking and leftovers safely stored away in the refrigerator, the couple settled in the living room. The space was illuminated by a tableside lamp, but mostly by the colorful lights on the small Christmas tree Bucky had insisted on dragging up the stairs and shoddily decorating the weekend prior. Harper's poorly contained joy had made the entire process more than worth it.

"I'm really sorry I started off the evening in such sour spirits," the younger brunette spoke up, crossing one leg over the other. She lifted her apple cider to her lips before sighing, "It's definitely not what I had planned on doing."

"Harper, it's really okay," he assured. "You're allowed to feel that way."

"All the same, I didn't put this outfit together to get all teary and cuddly."

"Oh?" he raised a brow flirtatiously. "What did you put it together for?"

Harper merely grinned at him, looking at him coyly from beneath her eyelashes. Innocently, she asked, "Do you want your present now?"

"Normally, I'd insist that you didn't have to give me anything, but I have a feeling I'm going to thoroughly enjoy this present," he smirked lasciviously.

Harper chortled and stood from her seat, hastening to kneel before the tree. She extracted two boxes neatly wrapped in festive green paper and stood, offering them to him. Bucky accepted them curiously. He knew Harper wouldn't go without giving him something – she was too kind and too giving for that – but he had no idea what she could possibly have come up with to gift him. He wouldn't know what to gift him if he was in her shoes.

Deciding to start with the larger, weightier of the two presents, Bucky slipped a finger beneath the carefully placed seam in the wrapping. He gingerly divested the gift of the paper, and his eyes widened when they saw the item in his hands. It was a thick, leather bound journal. The material was reddish brown, almost mahogany in color. Centered on the front cover was a small metal latching fixture. A subtle, simple border was embossed around the perimeter of the front and back covers, and the spine was clean and sturdy. It was a beautiful piece, and he was touched that she would have gotten him something so useful and unique.

Bucky looked up at the grinning young woman and said earnestly, "Thanks, doll. This is beautiful. I love it."

She ignored his thanks, waving him on to continue. He acquiesced, picking up the smaller, slender box. He followed the same meticulous procedure, carefully folding the removed piece of wrapping paper before placing it on the coffee table. He lifted the lid of the plain, navy box and was even more surprised. Inside, looking like it was straight out of the 1930s, was a black Parker brand fountain pen with gold detailing and a beautiful gold nib. He lifted the pen from the velvet interior of the box, turning it around in his fingers reverently. The surface was smooth and the unit was solid. The details were sparse, but clean and elegant. The nib appeared balanced and in perfect working order.

"Sorry if it's too eccentric," Harper spoke up nervously. "I know it's sort of an odd pick, but it really reminded me of you somehow."

"Darlin' this is amazing! I really love it," he assured with a smile.

"The reservoir is already filled with ink, but when you run out, just let me know. I now know a place you can get more."

"Thank you, doll," he repeated, leaning in and placing a tender kiss on her lips. "These are really thoughtful gifts. I appreciate it."

"I'm glad I didn't go totally wrong," Harper beamed.

"Not at all," he smiled fondly. Setting the gifts down on the coffee table, he realized now was perhaps the more difficult part – giving Harper her gift.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, follows, and favorites. I'm really relieved that the last chatper wasn't too crazy or too garbage. I was definitely nervous when I posted it. Relatedly, I am wondering how folks feel about continued spicy scenes? This story has two more written out, but if that's not what folks want, I can definitely do some editing to gloss over things or otherwise clean some stuff up without altering the plot. It would end up being like... mild spice instead. So yay or nay to spice would be amazing feedback, alongside any other thoughts you may have. Thank you again so much for the continued support.


	22. Chapter 22

Content warning: adult situations.

* * *

Bucky stood from his seat on the couch and nervously moved over to the little Christmas tree. He squatted down briefly, picking up the small, glittery gold box that was still lying beneath it. Returning to his perch beside her, he offered the gift to Harper.

"Thanks, hun," she grinned, carefully taking the box from his hand.

He chuckled and pointed out, "You don't even know what it is yet."

"I'm appreciative of everything you've given me," Harper replied earnestly, leaning in to place a peck on his cheek.

Heat bloomed on his face and his chest constricted. This woman seriously knew what to say. Bright blue eyes watched her carefully lift the sparkling lid from the box. Nestled in some white tissue paper was an international airline gift card. He couldn't help but stare disappointedly at the value printed in the upper right-hand corner.

"I'm sorry I can't get you all the way home," he muttered. "But I'm hoping this helps you meet that goal sooner."

To his horror, he heard a sniffle. Looking back up into her face, he saw her cinnamon eyes well up and begin to overflow with tears. Before he could utter any sort of comforts, her arms were around him. She held onto him tightly, and rested her chin on his shoulder. "Thank you so much, James. You're a really great guy."

Bucky turned, pressing a kiss into her hair. He returned her embrace, chest tight with emotion. "You may not believe me, but you've had a big part in that, Harper."

"I love you."

His hold on her tightened; hearing that sentiment for the second time confirmed that the first had definitely not been a fluke. "I love you, too."

Harper pulled back, dabbing beneath her eyes carefully so as to clean up the smudges of mascara there. With a chuckle, she said, "I swear, I'm really happy. Don't let the fact that I've been a hot mess all night fool you."

With a mischievous grin, Bucky replied, "Mess? Not so much. Hot? Most definitely. Where have these boots been hiding? And this dress? I mean, shit, Harper."

She laughed more fully this time and provided, "The boots were a gift from my sisters. The dress I bought a couple weeks ago in a moment of bravery. When I opened the boots from them this morning, I knew they had to go with this dress for at least the first wear."

Bucky used her close proximity to pull her closer by her hips until she was straddling his lap. He caressed the bare skin of her thighs for a moment before slipping his fingers below the bottom hem of the dress. "I thought there was nothing sexier than the combination of tights and boots, but it turns out that boots and a couple inches of skin are even better."

Her cheeks flushed prettily and she lightly pushed at his shoulder. "Oh, shut up. I might start thinking you have some kinks."

He raised a brow in challenge. "And your affinity for dirty talk is…?"

"Embarrassing?" she offered, blush deepening.

"Super sexy? Exciting?"

Harper groaned uncomfortably and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. A kiss to his collarbone belied her embarrassment. He chuckled and ghosted his fingers across her upper thighs where they still rested beneath her dress. Her lips brushed up his neck before placing a peck to his jaw.

Moving closer to his ear, she breathed, "Your hands are getting to pretty intimate territory, James."

"Are they?" he tilted his head at the suggestion.

"I'm beginning to wonder what your intentions are," she continued, lifting a dark brow.

"Intentions?" Bucky asked innocently. His flesh hand slipped back to palm her bottom.

Harper hummed her confirmation, hands finding purchase on his shoulders. "Intentions. Especially given that it's been a while, and I never reciprocated on that occasion."

"For the best, honestly, darlin'," he assured. "I've been so hot for you, that I truly wouldn't last long enough for you to get anything out of it if you reciprocated. Lemme have you a couple times before you worry too much about that."

"You sure?" she asked, visibly surprised.

"As much as I feel like I'm back to being a teenager, yeah. I'm real positive it won't take much of your attention to get me there and I wanna take care of you first."

Harper laughed lightly and sighed, "You really are something, James."

He responded with a kiss to her nose. "I'll take that as a compliment. Can this something-or-another take you to your room?"

"I'd say so," she nodded.

He hummed his anticipation, catching her lips in a brief kiss. The former soldier stood quickly, causing her legs to tighten around his hips. His hand remained on her backside, squeezing the soft flesh as his metal hand splayed across her back, pressing her tightly into him. He moved to her bedroom, just barely closing the door before her large cat could follow.

Carefully, he set her on the center of her bed, which he vaguely noted was made up neater than usual. He wondered for a moment about how much thought Harper had put into things given her outfit, the deep plum colored lipstick, and the neatened bed linens. She scooted up toward the head of the bed and he followed in a stalking crawl.

Harper reached for him, hands finding his shoulders as he moved to hover over her. His lips descended on hers, engaging in a slow, deep kiss. Her right hand moved upward, pausing to skim her thumb over his jawline affectionately before her fingers threaded through his hair. His hands slowly roamed her form, appreciating the slopes and valleys, her warmth and softness. Moving his lips to her neck, he nipped and kissed at the delicate, sensitive skin. His flesh hand moved to caress the exposed skin above her tantalizing boots, slipping beneath the bottom hem of her dress to cup her soft, curvy thigh. Gently, his metal hand pulled the other thigh upward, coaxing her leg to wrap around his hips. The movement had the fabric of her dress falling to pool at her hips, and he pulled back to allow his eyes to roam over the newly exposed skin and the barest hint of lacy black underwear.

"I'm beginning to suspect you had your own intentions for the evening, Harper," he muttered huskily. "This outfit, the carefully made bed, the lace underwear…"

"Not at all," she smirked. "Just preparedness. Is it a crime to want to be ready in case my incredibly hot boyfriend gets a bit horny?"

"Debatable, considering that some of your methods of preparedness are catalysts for that horniness."

"You shaved; that's the same thing," Harper accused.

Bucky couldn't help but laugh at being caught. With a more salacious grin, he reached into his back pocket, extracting a foil packet. "I'll admit I did engage in some preparedness as well."

Harper flushed brightly, her eyes fixed on the condom wrapper. Still sounding firm, she hummed, "So now the truth comes out."

"It does," he chuckled. "Though I have been prepared for a few weeks. You put all your preparedness energy forth tonight, it seems."

"A significant amount," she allowed. She moved her hand remaining on his shoulder upward, swiping her thumb across his lips. "The purple looks better on me, I think."

"That's not gonna stop me from wearin' it," the former soldier promised, moving back in to capture her lips in a kiss much more heated than before.

Tongues danced, teeth clashed, lips were bruised. Bucky put all his effort into ridding her of the purple lipstick, replacing the artificial color with the shade of being well abused and swollen. For her part, Harper was certainly an eager participant, though her attention was divided. Her leg around his hips pulled him closer and her hands began mapping out his chest, shoulders, and back over the fabric of his thermal.

Feeling more comfortable than he had previously with her, he pulled away from their kiss briefly to hastily toss off the unnecessary shirt. Resealing their lips, he groaned into the kiss when her fingers feathered over his bare chest. She splayed her palms over the smooth skin, thumbs skimming over his nipples. She didn't shy away from the sunburst of scars crawling across the left side of his chest, but also didn't focus on the damaged skin. He appreciated the normalcy, the sexual intimacy something he hadn't experienced in decades. Her fingers crawled over his shoulders, exploring the cords of muscle in his shoulder blades. She charted out the expanse of skin before her fingers danced lightly over his lower back, just above the waistband of his jeans.

His lips fell from hers as a low growl rumbled in his chest at her touch. He peered up at her, finding her eyes already on his. Her pupils were blown wide. Blush growing brighter, she confessed, "I seriously never would've thought someone as attractive as you could ever like someone like me. I mean, _fuck_, James. You know you're gorgeous, right?"

"I never thought anyone, let alone someone like you, would like me despite the scars I carry," he replied, knowing she would understand he wasn't talking purely about physical aesthetics.

Harper removed her arms, moving to sit up. He withdrew, sitting back and allowing her to kneel in front of him. Lacing her fingers with his metal ones, she asserted, "You're a good man, James."

He didn't correct her; he knew that they would never necessarily agree on that. But that was okay. She saw things in him that he couldn't, and he was so grateful for that, for her ability to love him. Gentle fingers tugged the bottom of her dress upward, and she took the hint, helping him divest her of the garment. Blue eyes roamed hungrily over her figure, curvy and soft and clad in matching black lace under garments. The tall boots added obscenely to her overall sex appeal. Her face was now glowing with a blush rapidly spreading down her chest. She avoided his gaze, beginning to tug the boots off.

Leaning in toward her ear, he breathed, "Someday, I wanna fuck you with those on."

"Oh my god, James!" she squeaked, ducking her head in embarrassment. A low chuckle resonated in his chest as he helped her tug the other boot off, dropping it to the floor. Leaning back again, he unfastened the button and pulled down the zip of his jeans, quickly tossing them atop the discarded footwear. He didn't miss the way her eyes lingered at the thick bands of muscle at his thighs.

"Or maybe you could ride my thighs in just those boots," he mused. "Would you prefer bareback or denim?"

Her visage was a beacon of scarlet embarrassment. She squeaked a mild protest, "James!"

"Sorry, doll," he grinned lasciviously. "I've been fantasizing about all the ways I wanna have you for a long time."

"How long?" she quirked a dark brow.

"Since many months before we even got together," he confessed.

With a small smile, Harper declared, "Then you shouldn't wait any longer."

He groaned his appreciation for the sentiment and leaned in, reconnecting their lips in a rough, hungry kiss. His fingers made quick work of unfastening her bra. The garment was flung off into the distance haphazardly, his hands in a rush to find the firm flesh beneath. He pinched, rolled, pulled and tapped at her nipples, squeezing the generous amount of flesh nature had gifted her.

"God, your tits are fucking perfect," he moaned against her lips, tweaking one pert peak while groping the other breast. Out of lust and instinct, he rutted against her, his stiff cock bumping her hot core through the last of their clothing. There was something so deliciously primal about touching a woman's breasts, and without any need to exercise self-control, he felt even more blood rush south. She was so soft, yet so firm, her nipples stiff in his palm. He could feel the rapid thrum of her heart in her chest.

The former soldier kissed a trail down her neck, then laved his tongue over the prominent arch of her collarbone. Finally, he indulged himself and let his lips wrap around one of the hard buds. He couldn't contain the moan that rumbled in his chest as his tongue swirled around the tip. Bucky flicked the tip of his tongue rapidly over her nipple, teasing it repeatedly back and forth in a mirror of what he intended to do to her clit. Hinting at these intentions, he rubbed his middle and index finger over her slit, still covered by alluring lace. Harper's hands roamed the broad expanse of his back, nails dragging feather light over the skin. His cock twitched. He distracted himself from her fingers by licking at the other nipple.

Finally, he tilted his chin back and brought his lips to her ear. Lowly, he breathed, "Is it okay to lose the underwear?"

Harper chewed her lower lip nervously, but nodded, her pupils still wide with lust. Bucky hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly pulling them down her legs. He kissed her gently, trying to pour as much love and affection into it as possible. He wanted more than anything for her to feel safe with him, to ensure that she knew how much he loved her. Lips still attached, he gently moved a knee between her thighs, coaxing them apart. One of her hands clenched, fingertips digging into his shoulder blade. Bucky pulled away, a groan parting his lips.

"Sorry!" Harper squeaked hastily.

"No," he shook his head. "Fuck that felt good."

"Really?"

He nodded. "Your nails felt good before, too."

She nodded once in understanding, avoiding his gaze all the while a small smile pulled at her lips. Hopefully, Bucky asked, "Harper, can I eat you?"

The deepest, mostly rapidly spreading blush he had ever seen bloomed on her skin. Her eyes darted from his and he knew immediately that he was pushing a boundary. Nervously, she began, "It's not that I don't want to…"

"Darlin', it's okay if you don't want me to."

With a frustrated pout, she insisted, "I'm not averse to the idea. It's just… that doesn't feel comfortable yet. It's… somehow more intimate to me than… anything else."

"I get it," he assured with a warm smile. "The intimacy is half the fun. The other half being a combination of making the receiver squirm and the taste."

"You… actually enjoy that?" she asked with trepidation.

"Fuckin' love it," he answer earnestly.

Harper seemed to consider this for a moment. With some nervousness in her voice, she offered, "I'll work on getting over my hang ups about it."

"Deal. Let me know if I can help," he offered with a suggestive smirk.

"Will do," she chuckled.

"If it's okay with you, I am gonna rub that responsive clit of yours now."

"Oh my gosh, you're filthy," Harper flushed, but she grinned nonetheless.

"And maybe finger you once you're nice and wet?"

"Be my guest," she offered. "Do you enjoy that, too?"

"God, yes," Bucky nodded hastily. "Just having my fingers in pussy makes my dick drip."

Her bright brown eyes glanced downward before one corner of her lip turned up. "Already that hard, James?"

"So fucking hard for you, doll. And I haven't even seen you yet."

He nudged her thighs farther apart with his knee before settling back on his haunches. He was met with no resistance or protest, and let his eyes fall to her center. A neat patch of dark curls and her womanhood, wet and inviting, offered a breathtaking vision. He wanted so badly to taste her, but could content himself with exploring by hand first.

"Can I have your hand?" he asked. Harper acquiesced, offering him her right hand. He brought her palm to his hardened length in time for her to feel a throb pass through it. "Proof of how sexy you are. I can't wait to fuck you, Harper."

He let go of her hand, which moved to grip his shoulder when he swiftly reconnected their lips. His free hand moved to her slit, already damp with arousal. He rubbed his fingers between her lips for lubrication before he found her clit. His attention was unwavering and focused until her thighs began to close and her hips began to squirm. With her core practically dripping, he slipped his index finger inside of her. He let out a moan at how obscenely tight she was. He could already imagine how it would feel to have her around him. Hastily, he added a second finger, absently tugging perhaps too roughly on the lip he had suckled between his teeth if the tiny squeak of discomfort was any indication. He broke the kiss and muttered an apology before continuing the movement of his fingers. He rocked them in and out several times before maneuvering them to stretch her. Teasingly, he stroked upwards in a way that he suspected would have her seeing stars. Indeed, his efforts were rewarded with a shaky breath. He pressed harder and worked his fingers more vigorously, wondering if he could get her off without touching her sensitive nub.

Blue eyes glanced down and his hand froze, entire body going rigid when he noticed the dotting of crimson on his palm.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the continued support! The reviews on the last chapter said yes to spice, so here we are. Dirty talking Bucky is back. Apologies for the late upload. I'll still upload tomorrow as usual. This chapter just required a little more editing before I felt okay posting it. Although I do remain nervous about the level of spicy citrus here, since I am not really sure I'm good at this sort of thing. Either way, thank you again for the support and feedback.


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky's breath caught in his chest, eyes locked on the flecks of crimson on his palm. Snapping out of his surprise, he immediately pulled his fingers away from her sex. He could feel that she had gone rigid beneath him.

Locking his eyes with her brown ones, he demanded, "Harper, are you a virgin?"

He watched her brows knit before her eyes roamed to his hand. Her face was open to him, and he watched the surprise flit across it before being replaced by annoyance. Reconnecting their gaze, she replied. "First off, the whole 'virgins bleed' thing has been totally blown out of proportion by our patriarchal society; not all do, and there are reasons why a non-virgin might. Secondly, do you even have to ask?"

His own temper flaring, he retorted, "What, am I just supposed to know?"

"I _told you_ that I only had the one relationship that wasn't even really a relationship with that guy in college. I figured you'd correctly assume how inexperienced I was – am – from that conversation."

"I figured you might've had some one night stands! You've told me a lot about how much of a partier you used to be," Bucky sneered.

Harper huffed agitatedly and said, "Well, I didn't. You of all people should know it takes me a while to trust other people, and that I'm not quick to engage in physical contact. I don't see why this even matters. I didn't ask how many girls you've slept with, despite your stories making it abundantly clear that there were probably many before me."

The former assassin couldn't help but roll his eyes. "That doesn't matter."

"Then why the _fuck_ would it matter that I haven't had sex with anyone?!" Harper shot back.

"Because this? Being your first? I don't want that!"

Her hands were immediately on his chest, shoving him back. With tears rapidly pooling in her eyes, she hissed, "Then fuck off!"

Her hands fretted in midair for a moment, searching, before grabbing up her comforter and pulling it in front of herself. Immediately, the gravity of his words hit him, and his chest clenched painfully. Quickly, much more gently, he said, "Oh shit, no, Harper, I didn't mean it like that. It's not that I don't want you. I do. More than I've ever wanted anyone before."

"You have a funny way of showing it," she replied, voice shaking. The tears began to spill, running down her cheeks.

"Darlin', I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" he cut himself off, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Why does this matter to you?" she repeated, tone turning icy and eyes unwavering despite the tears still dripping from them.

"Harper, you gotta understand that from the moment we really started to become friends, I had significant reservations. I felt… feel," he corrected, "like I'm incredibly unworthy of having any sort of relationship with you, platonic or romantic. I've done _horrible_ things. My… my dreams are drowning in blood. I've spent the largest part of my life killing people, doing disgusting, painful, awful things to other human beings. You've dedicated your life to helping people, even despite what it means for your personal wellbeing and happiness. I'm a murderer. You're an angel. I've felt like I'm this toxic stain on you. Maybe that's why I stuck with the assumption that you've had one night stands. Because now, facing the fact that I would have to be the one to take yet another piece of your purity away… Your first time shouldn't be with someone like me."

"You don't get to decide that," she growled. "This is my body, it's my decision. And you don't get to decide how important my virginity is. It's mine, and I really don't much care about it."

"Harper-"

She cut him off sharply, "Have I been 'tainted' since we met? Am I different in any sort of bad way? Am I not this kind, caring person you thought me to be in the beginning?"

"I think the world of you," Bucky answered earnestly.

"Well, then I guess your touch can't rot me to the core, because if you really think that this is the only thing you'd be my first with, then you've been seriously out of touch."

His stomach dropped. "What do you mean?"

Her left hand gripped the comforter tighter while her right flailed in exasperation. "You've been my first fucking everything! I told you there was nothing to tell about my love life. There was one guy who I was never even in a real relationship with! Things were just starting to really go somewhere when I was hospitalized for the cluster headaches! It's all been you! First boyfriend, first kiss, first make out partner, first to touch my boobs, first to give me an orgasm, first to finger me – first and only everything!"

The usually calm brunette was practically shouting at this point and her voice sounded near sobs. Bucky didn't know what to be most horrified by: the information he had just learned, or how visibly upset he had made her.

"You never wondered why I was really so insecure at the beginning of our relationship? Despite knowing my history and me _telling_ _you_ I had no idea what I was doing? I know I never said anything explicitly, but I was nervous! How could I possibly compare to any of the girls you'd been with? I'm the too-old-to-be-this-inexperienced loner with a borderline drinking problem who suffers from a bizarre chronic pain condition, and now I just had to confess it all out loud. I'm so _fucking _embarrassed," she continued, finally dissolving into sobs.

Bucky didn't respond for a moment, stunned into silence. There was too much to digest. Looking back, she really had left him a trail of breadcrumbs to the truth. He hadn't looked any closer, maybe subconsciously to protect his assumptions about her. But at the same time, she was always so confident, so forthcoming. She had been the one to push things towards friendship. She had been the one who confessed her feeling to him. But then, that only made him feel worse. Those things must have been so intimidating, but she had really put herself out there for him.

"Harper…" he muttered, reaching to wrap his arm around her.

Harper lifted a hand in protest and hissed, "Don't touch me."

"Can we talk this through?" he asked, heartrate immediately accelerating.

"Go sit in the living room."

"What?"

"I'm not sitting here, naked with you, any longer."

He nodded and stood, gathering his own clothes. He made to put on his jeans, when Harper snapped, "Not here."

"Okay." He exited her room, closing the door behind him. Bucky moved to the couch in the living space. Aslan lay on the armchair, but lifted his head when the former assassin approached. Bucky was leveled with a decidedly livid feline glare.

"Don't look at me like that," he implored quietly, dropping his clothes to the couch with a defeated sigh. The green eyed stare did not turn any kinder. Bucky stepped into his jeans before addressing the cat again, "I know I fucked up. I don't need you to tell me that."

The old mammal let out one low meow before lowering his head again, though his eyes never left the dark haired man. Bucky pulled his thermal back on, grimacing when he realized it was one that Harper had gifted him. He sat on the couch and began to consider all that had just transpired.

And he had plenty of time to think and grow more anxious, because it was a solid half hour before Harper emerged from her room. She wore crimson pajama pants with Christmas trees and reindeer on them, a terrible reminder that this, her favorite day of the year, had undoubtedly been ruined. A loose black hoodie covered the rest of her form, and he couldn't help but think that she'd have to try to cover up more. Her hair was now piled atop her head, and her face was bare of makeup. Her eyes were puffy and red. She sat on the far end of the couch from him and immediately Aslan stood and jumped from his perch. Tail held high, he marched over to the couch and jumped up, situating himself between his human and the former assassin.

The silence stretched between them uncomfortably. Finally, Bucky said, "Harper, I'm so sorry that I upset you."

"You didn't 'upset' me," the brunette shook her head. "You really hurt me, James."

He swallowed thickly, a myriad of unpleasant emotions churning in his stomach. "That is the last thing I ever wanted to do."

"I get that you were having a reaction to something you found surprising, but did you really think it wouldn't be hurtful? You went from having me naked in bed with your fingers _literally inside me_ to saying, with disgust in your voice and in regards to my body, 'I don't want that.'"

"I shouldn't have been so reactionary. I didn't mean that the way it came out."

"I understand that. Your explanation of what you were thinking was helpful in understanding what you were reacting to. Thank you for being more articulate than I was," she replied evenly.

He couldn't help but admire, even in that tense, uncomfortable moment, her astounding communication skills. How she could give him any sort of credit instead of being volatile and acting on her hurt just proved her maturity and verbal aptitude. "You had every reason to be less articulate than usual. But I just… before we continue, I do want you to know that my reaction was genuinely no reflection on you or your body. Everything I've ever said about how beautiful you are, how sexy, how much I've wanted to be with you and for how long… that was all true. I still feel that way."

Harper nodded. "I get that. But knowing that, it doesn't erase the fact that the voice in my head telling me there's no way someone who looks like you could want someone like me has been screaming for the last forty minutes."

Cautiously, Bucky reached for her hand with his, pulling back when Aslan's head shot up at the motion. Harper began threading her fingers through his fur; to calm him or to praise him, Bucky wasn't sure. "I'm so sorry, Harper."

"More importantly, I need to know if you are going to be hung up on not having sex because you don't want to be my first, or if you are going to be able to get over that. I will not accept you withholding that piece of our relationship because of how you feel about something which is my choice."

"Harper, the problem that I've had, that has exacerbated and complicated how I feel about everything to do with us…" Bucky grimaced and clenched his hands on his knees. He confessed, "There's so much about me you don't know."

"What you don't get is that whatever there is in your past that you find difficult, painful, shameful, whatever, it doesn't change anything." Tears began to drip from her eyes again. "I have the two most important facts: I love you, and you love me. Right?"

"More than anything, Harper," he answered, his own blue eyes prickling with tears as a swirl of emotions twisted in his chest. "And in that regard, you're my first."

The brunette was visibly disarmed by his confession. "Really?"

"Really," he assured. "I didn't think I'd ever feel for someone the way I feel for you."

"Oh," she breathed. It was silent for a beat before she replied, "I think it goes without saying that you're the same for me."

He nodded once before cautiously scooting closer, warily glancing down at her guard cat. "Doll, please don't doubt that I love you. That I want you. That meeting you is something I wouldn't trade for anything. That's why it's hard, knowing that any choice you make can't possibly be informed by the whole picture. There's so much you don't know. _Can't_ know. But I worry that if you did, you'd make different choices. If you found out any of my truths that you would feel repulsed, horrified that someone like me had ever touched you, kissed you, loved you…"

"We've had this conversation before, James," Harper shook her head, sounding equal parts exasperated and gentle. "So long as none of these truths that you are ashamed of were a product of your free will, so long as no harms committed against others were somehow satisfying to you, then I don't care. I've seen to some extent how deeply you've internalized all of this guilt, this pain. And I'm not naïve; I know you've hidden a lot of your pain from me. But in a way, that's reassuring to me that none of these things that haunt you were things you would have chosen to do. You're not some sick piece of shit that gets off on violence and the pain of others. You're the protector, the big brother, the best friend, the boyfriend who is more in tune with what other people need and deserve than what he does. And that's the man that I love; not this past version of yourself that you see."

"Can't you see where I'm coming from?" he asked, hands clenching tightly again.

"I can," she nodded. "And I hope you know that I'm not ever going to expect you to share anything that you don't want to with me. But by that same token, you can't use what you haven't told me against me."

"I know, Harper, I just…" Bucky sighed, lowering his face to his hands. "I know that it's not being fair to you. I know I'm being really fucked up. It just… the thought that _I'm_ the only person to have ever been with you like this…"

"James, hun," she implored, "think about this. What are our options moving forward from this? If you don't want to be my first, then logic follows…"

"God, no that's worse," he interrupted, sickened by the thought of another man having her so long as she was his. "So much worse."

"Then what now?"

"I'm really sorry about how tonight has gone," he replied, forcing his voice to come out steadily, despite the deluge of emotions still swirling around in his chest. "This… information caught me off guard, and it is something I have always had maybe more traditional views about than you. I understand what you're getting at; there aren't any options more favorable than me getting over it. I just need some time."

"Well, don't think that my goal in having this conversation was to head back into my bedroom and let you right back between my legs," Harper replied testily. "I love you, and I do hear where you're coming from, but I'm still hurt."

He lifted his head, feeling guilty all over again when he realized he had lost focus on her feelings. "I'm really sorry, Harper."

She sighed. "I know you are, James."

He didn't miss that he hadn't yet been forgiven. Scrubbing at his knees anxiously, he muttered, "I'll head home then. Give you space."

Harper pursed her lips before shaking her head. "That's not necessary."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Want some more cake? I hardly ate any earlier, because I was afraid of popping out of that dress."

"I'd love some more cake," he nodded weakly. Hesitantly, he added, "You didn't need to worry earlier."

She hummed non-committedly, and disappeared into the kitchen. Bucky sank back into the couch, suddenly exhausted. What was he supposed to do? If Harper said something self-deprecating, should he not correct her, because it was his words that had shaken her in the first place? Or did saying nothing make it seem like he, in fact, didn't find her as attractive as he claimed? Was she baiting him, testing him on purpose?

Maybe Harper wasn't always quite as sweet and forgiving as he thought.

* * *

The next few weeks passed painfully slowly. It had begun to snow regularly, which made working at the docks absolutely miserable for the cold-hating brunet. And Harper had been even frostier. Not overtly. She was somewhat subtle. Bucky almost wished she would just yell at him again.

In a lot of ways, he couldn't blame her for being upset with him. He'd be upset with him if he had been in her place. He just wished she could empathize more with his line of thinking. He knew that she understood him – that much had always proven true – but empathy was certainly not something she had in this case. Their ideas about the sanctity of her purity were too polarized, and he figured that's where all of this had started, really. He freaked out because, for him, taking a dame's innocence was a weighty decision. For her, it seemed like she was only still pure out of happenstance, rather than any sort of commitment to waiting for the right person.

Ultimately, he could logically admit that she was right; it was entirely her choice what to do with her body, and he didn't get to exercise his will over her. He had spent decades as a shell, a body used by others. He couldn't force his will or his values on anyone else, least of all Harper. But knowing that didn't do much to alleviate his guilt for lying to her or touching her with his blood drenched hands.

Admittedly, Harper was also right in that their options were limited. They could move forward separately, which he absolutely did not want. Or they could either give the honor of taking her innocence to another man – the thought of which made Bucky see red and want to vomit simultaneously – or he would have to set aside his own troubled thoughts over everything and have her himself. Even before they went to bed that night, he had already vowed that this would be the solution. Well, whenever she would let him have her, that is.

It was a palpable relief when he received a text from Harper on his way home from work one day.

Harper: Another cluster cycle is starting. Could you come over, please?

His heart hurt for her, hating that she had to experience such tremendous pain yet again. But the fact that she was calling upon his company in her most vulnerable time made him hopeful that things between them might actually stand a chance at healing.

* * *

A/N: Many thanks for all the feedback! I'm glad that the spice wasn't awkward or cringe-worthy. There is one more spicy scene, more conflict, and more fluff on the way. I'm glad that it seems Bucky is coming off the way I wanted him to. I imagine over the course of his relationship with Harper, who is so independent and quirky and sensitive to his traumas, Bucky would be able to grow into a more modern version of who he was before enlisting. Like he could actually begin to heal and detach himself from identifying as the Winter Soldier, a fighter. Also, I hope that Harper has been an interesting character. I worry that because this story is told only from Bucky's point of view that she may come off as being a Mary Sue who is too perfect, but that's really just how Bucky sees her. Hence his fleeting realization here about her occassional passive aggressions. Maybe I'm explaining too much. Regardless, I truly appreciate all of the continued support. Thank you again!


	24. Chapter 24

"Harper?" Bucky called gently through her closed bedroom door. Getting into her apartment wasn't a problem; buzzing into any of the apartments the tricks frequented gave you instant access to the building (a fact that disturbed him deeply in regards to Harper's safety) and then Harper had a spare key to her apartment hidden behind the dingy bronze "7" on her door. It was peeling away from the door just enough that the key could just barely be slipped in and out of the space between the number and the peeling wooden surface beneath it. But it was silent when he walked into the unit, and Harper was nowhere to be seen.

There was no reply from within her room, so he gently cracked the door open. Harper was sleeping deeply atop her comforter, her large cat curled up against her side. She was sleeping on her back, which was incredibly unusual for her. He assumed the cluster side of her face must have still been tender when she fell asleep. She wore high waisted berry colored leggings and a black sports bra, leaving a few inches of skin bare between the leggings and the bra. He wanted little more than to crawl into bed with her, but given their recent tensions he refrained, backing out of her room silently.

After straightening up the kitchen and cleaning the litter box, Bucky stared at the bathroom vanity with trepidation. He frowned, debating whether or not he was violating Harper's privacy if he did what he was considering. He heard familiar footsteps softly pad towards him.

"James?"

He turned, immediately noting how tired she still looked. "Hey, doll. How're you doing?"

"I'm okay," she sighed. Then she asked, "Why are you standing in my bathroom?"

"I was wondering if you had enough medication to get through another cycle," he admitted.

"Why didn't you check?"

"Honestly, doll?" He breathed a sigh. "I'm really tryin' to walk on eggshells."

Harper's expression was unreadable even as she leveled him with her gaze. After a long pause, she simply turned and exited the room. Bucky followed her into the kitchen, asking, "Harper?"

"What do you want me to say, James?" she asked, the exhaustion audible in her voice and visibly weighing down her shoulders. "That you don't need to be so careful around me? That you should have felt free to look in my vanity and taken inventory of my meds?"

"I don't know, just… something," he responded, sounding as lost as he felt. "Harper, what's going on between us? Are we going to be okay?"

"Can we maybe not do this right now?"

Harper reached above her to pull a glass down from a cabinet. With an unsteady hand, she pulled a full pitcher of water from the fridge. Blue eyes watched her forearm begin to tremble and gently took the pitcher from her weak grasp. He filled the glass and replaced the pitcher in the fridge. The brunette muttered her thanks, but he hardly noticed.

"Can we please do this now?" he implored quietly.

Harper nodded slowly, and he was once again following at her heels. She led him to the couch, where they took up perches on opposite ends from each other. After taking several sips off her glass, the young woman asked, "What do you want to hear from me?"

"It's not about getting you to tell me what I want to hear," Bucky frowned. "Doll, I know I really messed up. Seriously, I do. And I can't express to you how sorry I am for hurting you. You've been distant and cold toward me ever since. I don't resent that; I think it's fair. I'm just worried that you aren't really okay, that our relationship is irreparable."

"You don't 'resent' that?" she asked testily. "You have no place to."

Bucky groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. "See, Harper, this is what I mean! Everything I say or do might set you off."

Harper shook her head, anger visible on her face now. "'Set me off?' James, seriously?"

"Darlin'," he pleaded, "please. How do I make this better? _Can_ I make this better?"

He watched her scrub at her face before she looked back up at him with a drawn expression, her eyes half-lidded and exhausted. She muttered, "I've been lashing out because I've been trying to create distance. Not because I don't want to be with you, but because I realized how vulnerable I've let myself become with you. I'm having some issues, and I'm not sure how to work through them."

"Harper, I know trust and vulnerability are hard for you. It was a few months of knowing you before I ever saw past the face you wear to everyone else. And I'm so sorry that I said something that has hurt you, has jeopardized my knowing you like that moving forward. But I don't know what I can do at this point."

She drew her knees up to her chest, letting her forehead drop to them as her arms wound around her shins. Her voice was muffled, but he could hear her nonetheless. "I don't know, either. I feel like I've been launched back into my unresolved shit with Josh, plus this, and I don't know…"

"What do you mean?"

"The guy from college, Josh. I really, _really _liked him. I opened up way too quickly. We went out a bunch of times, and were almost constantly talking. Every day started with a good morning text and ended with a text good night."

"So when things went south, you felt like you had let yourself be too vulnerable with him," Bucky filled in the blanks. "Because it really hurt you."

"Yeah," she nodded into her knees. "Him turning around and immediately going out with my friend made me feel so disposable, worthless. Like… really undesirable. It fucked up my self-confidence, and it took a long time to fix that. And now I feel like I didn't learn anything from that. I didn't want to go forward in my life and let anyone have the power to shake my self-view.

"But in the past few weeks of trying to rebuild some of my walls with you, I've realized that being vulnerable isn't the problem. I couldn't have fallen in love with you without both of us opening up. The problem is that the way I see myself is fragile, my confidence is an act. There's nothing genuine about the person I've convinced myself I am, there's no true value I see in myself. If I was actually as self-assured as I pretend to be, then I wouldn't have been so hurt by Josh backing out, or by our fight. And now another fucking cluster cycle is here to beat me while I'm down."

Her shoulders began to shake with sobs. Bucky reached for her, wrapping her up in his arms and gently pulling her into his lap. His cybernetic arm wrapped around her hips, securing her against him as his flesh hand rubbed comfortingly up and down her back. He whispered into her hair, "You're okay, doll. I love you so much."

He felt her fingers grip tightly at the fabric of his shirt at his shoulder blades. Through her tears, she managed, "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch."

"No, no, no," Bucky said quickly. "Don't, Harper. I don't feel that way at all. I know that this is another problem caused by poor communication on my part."

"Hang on," she muttered, pulling away. Without another word, she stood, extracting herself from his hold, and disappearing to the bathroom.

The brunette was gone for some time, and Bucky was left to nervously scrub at his knees. He was just about to get up and check on her when the door to the bathroom clicked open. Harper walked back out, eyes and face dry, though a bit pink and puffy. Her hair was brushed through, and she looked overall much more stable. She sat in front of him, leaving little space between them.

Harper met his gaze and said, "I shouldn't have pushed you away, and I should have talked to you when I was figuring out what was really going on with me. I'm sorry."

"I didn't make it easy for you to confide in me. I hurt you in a way I know was especially painful. My words were poorly chosen, and I was projecting my values onto you in a way that was unfair. I don't blame you at all for any of this."

"You asked if our relationship is irreparable. It's not," she shook her head, eyes glistening. "Not to me."

"Not to me, either," he agreed. "What can I do, Harper?"

The young woman didn't reply, but surprised him when suddenly her lips were on his. Her hands clenched on his shoulders, and her legs straddled his hips. Bright blue eyes widened before falling shut, lips feverishly returning her desperate kiss. His arms came around her again, holding her close. Her tongue parted the seam of his lips as she took the lead. It was new for him; she hadn't ever been the aggressor in their heated moments, nor had any dame he'd been with before the War. He couldn't help but groan, blood already rushing south.

Harper pressed in closer, her chest flattening against his. He was painfully aware that only a simple sports bra shielded her from his gaze, his hands. She nipped and tugged at his lower lip, their shallow breaths mingling between them. Her hands roamed his chest, mapping out the broad planes of hard muscle. His hands dipped lower, palming and squeezing her bottom. She began rocking her core against his groin and he squeezed harder, encouraging her to keep moving. He was rapidly growing harder, and the nearly inaudible noises she hissed against his lips indicated that she was turned on, too.

As suddenly as it all started, it ended. Harper let out a small yelp and pulled away as if shocked. Bucky gaped at her, horrified and confused, until he saw her clutch at her right eye and his brain put together what was happening.

"Oh, god, not again," she begged, body automatically curling in around herself protectively.

"Do you want your medication?" Bucky asked urgently, already standing.

"No, I used it earlier," she managed through grit teeth. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_."

And so another cluster began. Fifty-seven minutes of Harper pacing, sobbing, punching at her temple as Bucky watched on helplessly. He didn't think this was something he'd ever get used to. When it was finally over, Harper sat beside him wordlessly, immediately slumping over and resting heavily against him. The former soldier gathered her up in his arms, returning her to her bedroom. She settled on her bed, much as he had seen her when he had first arrived. This time, however, he joined her.

* * *

James: How you holding up, darlin'?

Harper: Second cluster just ended. Fucking tired.

James: I'm just leaving the docks now. Are you hungry? Do you need anything?"

Harper: No, thank you though. I'm too tired to even think about eating.

James: I'll be over in a half hour, okay?

Harper: I'm not going to be very good company.

James: See you in 28 minutes. Love you, doll.

Harper: If you're sure. See you soon. Love you, too.

Bucky grinned down at his phone before pocketing it and setting down the snow dusted street. Talking things out the previous weekend had been really helpful. He wished that their reconciling hadn't happened between cluster headaches, but he was truly relieved that they were no longer fighting. It had him in such a good mood, the cold barely got to him on his travels to get dinner and make his way to Harper's apartment.

True to his word, he was knocking on her door a half hour later.

Harper: Assuming that's you at the door, you can come in. Can't get up, nor do I want to.

Bucky frowned, and let himself in with the spare key. Blue eyes swept the space, finding the dark haired woman lying on the couch. Sprawled across her torso was a twenty two pound mass of fur. The old feline was cheek to cheek with the exhausted brunette, a small smile on his aged muzzle. Even Bucky, leery as he still was about the cat, couldn't help but notice how absolutely adorable the entire scene was.

"See?" Harper asked. "Can't get up."

Her fingers were gently stroking the cat's furry back, moving in a slow, methodical massage. The feline puffed a content sigh, nuzzling his cheek harder against Harper's.

"I'm glad you have him," Bucky admitted, smiling at the pair fondly.

"Me too. He's my best boy," she grinned.

"Should I feel offended?" the former soldier chuckled, sitting down with his back against the couch. He set the brown paper bag he was carrying on the coffee table.

"Of course not," Harper replied easily. "Just know that I loved him first."

Bucky laughed and Harper sent him a small, warm smile. Big green eyes shot open to glare at him, the old feline clearly offended that Bucky was intruding on his moment with his human. The brunet sighed and said, "I think he still hates me."

"He's just asserting his place on the Hierarchy of Harper."

Bucky raised a brow at the young woman. "Oh?"

"Hey, don't forget that it was because of him that we met."

The former soldier paused at that. He hadn't really thought about the cat in that way. But Harper was right; his entire life had changed all because that jealous orange menace had gotten loose one particular night. Otherwise, Harper never would have been outside to run into Bucky on his nightly prowl. Chuckling lightly, he admitted, "Perhaps I should be nicer to him."

"Of course you should," Harper agreed through a yawn. "Aslan deserves only the best."

"Where did you get that name?" Bucky asked.

"You've never read the books or watched the movie? _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_?" When Bucky shook his head in the negative, she said, "We need to change that very soon."

"I assume there's a character named Aslan that you like?"

"Aslan is a lion, and the true creator and king of the world of Narnia. He's powerful, and caring, and just… genuinely good. He's a protector who fights for peace, but allows the Narnians to learn to fight for peace on their own, too. He's a wise, kind character, and when I saw this beautiful orange Maine Coon, I could only think of how much he looks like a little lion. It was a perfect fit."

The cat had laid his head down as Harper was speaking, tucking his face into her neck and gripping her t-shirt in his front claws. Another fond smile turned Bucky's lips. "It is fitting."

* * *

James: How're you feeling today, babe?

Harper: Babe? Who are you and what did you do with my adorable boyfriend?

James: I thought maybe my petnames for you were odd or old-fashioned?

Harper: They're sweet and unique. "Babe" is for the youths and the fuckboys.

James: Well, I certainly don't want to sound like a fuckboy. How're you feeling today, doll?"

Harper: Same as ever. I'm really tired and dreading the prospect of having to wash my hair.

James: I was thinking I could come over with dinner?

Harper: You don't have to, hun.

James: Falafel and salad?

Harper: You really don't need to feel obligated, James. I'll be fine.

James: Okay, be over in about 45.

Harper: I seriously love you.

James: Love you, too, darlin.

A little later than he had planned, Bucky let himself into Harper's apartment, as was now routine. He glanced to the living space and did a double take. "Hey, doll. You washed your hair already."

She gave him a tired smile and explained, "I don't have it in me to let you see how much self-neglect I'm capable of during a cluster cycle. Save that shit for if we ever move in together and it's impossible to hide."

Bucky's chest was awash with warmth at the idea that she'd consider moving in with him in the future. They very rarely spoke of the future after she asked him if he'd go back to the States with her, and he sometimes wondered what she wanted. He knew there were a lot of things he'd have to figure out when the time came to make some real, concrete decisions about their life together, but it was touching to know that she really saw a future with him when he'd spent so long not knowing if he even had a future off the ice.

"I was planning to convince you to let me draw you a bath and wash your hair," he frowned. She wore black leggings and a sweatshirt, and her hair was pulled up in a towel knotted atop her head.

She raised a brow at him. "Okay, Captain Romance. Your ship sailed."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Har har. Hang on a second." He disappeared to her bathroom, retrieved her hairbrush, and returned to the living room. Sitting beside the brunette on the couch, he directed, "Turn please."

"James, c'mon," Harper sighed. "I'm tired."

"I know. So let me do this for you."

"I'm not an invalid."

"I know you aren't, darlin'," Bucky promised, using all of his patience to remain calm when all he wanted was for her to just let him take care of her. "And I know that you're capable and independent. But letting me help a little doesn't take that from you. You aren't alone, you know."

Harper leveled him with an intense look, searching his face for something. Finally, she sighed and leaned in, placing a gentle peck on his lips. Drawing back, she pulled the towel from her head and shifted in her seat so that her back was to him. She said nothing, but she didn't have to. Bucky grinned and placed a kiss to the crown of her head, unaffected by the wet hair. Slowly, methodically, he began gently working the brush through her hair. He reveled in the smell of her shampoo, in the feeling of the silky strands slipping between his fingers. She made no complaint, and he watched her shoulders relax as he worked. Finally, he set the brush down and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back into his chest. She turned to gaze up at him with half-lidded, exhausted eyes before tucking her face beneath his chin. He held her just a little tighter, happy to have her safely in his arms before pain took her once again.

* * *

A/N: All of the gratitude for the continued support and feedback. I'm really glad to hear that Harper is an at least mildly interesting character. I put a pretty healthy dose of myself in her, and Aslan is totally based off my own handsome feline of a different, much less cool name. But that's rather beside the point. Thanks again for the support!


	25. Chapter 25

Content Warning: Discussions of mental health.

* * *

James: Hey, darlin', how're you doing today?

Harper: I'm alright. My appointments went smoothly and I was home and able to start some write-ups before the first cluster hit. How's your day going so far? Are you on break?

James: I am. Today is fine, just fucking cold.

Harper: If you want, you could come over after and I can warm you up. ;)

James: Oh? How do you intend to do that, sweetheart?

Harper: You and me, warming each other beneath the sheets?

Harper: No, but actually I put another blanket on my bed and have my laptop set up so we can watch Netflix in bed instead of on the couch. And you still have that pasta in my fridge.

James: Sounds perfect. Do you have work to do, though? I don't want to interrupt or make things harder on you.

Harper: I do, but I'm honestly having a hard day. Like, I'm feeling really down. Excuse the sappiness, but…

Harper: If it isn't too much to ask

Harper: I kinda need you.

James: It's never too much to ask, doll. Not ever. Are you going to be okay? I can take off now if you need me to.

Harper: No, no, no. I'll be okay. I now have seeing you to look forward to.

James: I love you, Harper.

Harper: I love you, too. 3

* * *

Bucky had to remind himself to keep a normal civilian pace as he left the docks to go to Harper's. He knew that she dealt with some type of depression; she'd been relatively open about that. But she was outstandingly high functioning, and also compartmentalized well. It made it easy to forget that her moods were somewhat tenuous and often at risk of plummeting. He understood and could relate in a lot of ways, especially to the feeling of not being particularly stable. Between what he secretly suspected was perhaps a predisposition toward down moods, being separated from her family after an education and career move gone awry, living down the hall from working girls and drug dealers, and dealing with an incurable, unpredictable pain condition… he'd be floored if someone could handle everything without issue.

While most cluster headaches ended in Harper sobbing her frustrations to him and she would occasionally vent about a difficult day at work, it was rare for Harper to truly open up and have a conversation with him when she was having a hard time. Not that he wanted to see her upset, but Harper had a way of explaining her troubles in such a matter-of-fact, detached way. She wore a tough face, even now, and he wished she'd let him in more. He worried, sometimes, that she was suffering more than he knew. He was also, undeservedly, afraid that she didn't trust him enough to confide in him. Of course, he had a great deal he didn't confide in her for no trust-related reasons at all.

He found himself at Harper's door, swinging open to reveal the focus of his musings. She wore black, high-waisted leggings and a plain grey sports bra. Her hair was mussed and looked a little bit like she needed to wash it. Her eyes were slightly swollen and her skin was pallid. She'd clearly been crying not too long before his arrival.

"Hey, James," she sniffled, offering him a weak, wobbling smile. "How was the rest of your day?"

"Fine," he answered absently, blue eyes searching her face with concern. He stepped into the apartment, and Harper closed the door behind him, twisting the lock and the deadbolt. "Darlin' are you alright?"

"Fine," she repeated. "Well, not really, but…"

Bucky slipped his fingers between hers and pulled her gently toward the couch. They sat and he asked, "What's on your mind that's got you so down, Harper?"

Her lip quivered and her eyes turned glassy. "How the fuck can I keep living like this?"

His arms wrapper around her swiftly, flesh hand delicately cradling her head against his chest. "Like what, sweetheart?"

"With this pain," she whimpered. "With this stupid fucking job that depresses the shit outta me, that I struggle to pay my bills off of, away from my family with no idea how I can get back there. But this _pain_! How can I live the rest of my life dealing with this?!"

"You'll do it the same way you have been. You're so strong, Harper," Bucky reassured.

"I'm not," she shook her head in the negative, burying her face further into his chest. "I'm fucking falling apart, James. I'm exhausted, I'm having shadows a lot more often this cycle, and what if that's the new norm for me? What if I go chronic instead of episodic? There may _never_ be an end to this cycle of getting beaten into the ground, picking myself up, and then – just when I'm getting back to normal – another one creeps up and tears me down again. What's the point?!"

Bucky held her tighter, gently shushing her hysterical tears and pressing intermittent kisses to her temple. He carefully maneuvered her into his lap with her still clinging to him. It took some time, and the fabric of his thermal was damp and sticking to his chest where her face had pressed into him, but her tears did eventually slow. Gently, he admitted, "Darlin', you're scaring me a little. Are you feeling like you… aren't gonna make it through this cycle?"

Harper sat back and scrubbed her hands over her face for a moment. Slowly, from between her fingers, she replied, "It's not that. I'll make it through. I just… it occurred to me that I didn't necessarily have to and it's been a long time since I've thought about that. I was freaking out a little bit. I'm really sorry that I burdened you with this."

"Harper, it is absolutely not a burden. Your wellbeing is important to me, and I hope you know that you can always lean on me for support. I… I don't even want to think about you not being here. If you need me, I'll be here, okay?"

"Okay," she breathed, nodding weakly. She cleared her throat and said, marginally stronger, "I um… I don't like you seeing me this way, but I finally started being active in that online forum I was telling you about, and it's become abundantly clear that using offered supports is vital to getting through this. Especially when your thoughts get really dark. So… are you absolutely sure it isn't too much? I recognize that this is a big ask, putting up with my chronic pain condition and these really low moods."

Bucky's lips twitched upward at the corners. "Doll, I've got a host of issues that you have graciously coped with. We're in this together."

Harper chuckled lightly and nodded her agreement. "Okay."

"So has the forum been helping?" the former soldier asked, lightly brushing the remaining wetness from her cheeks.

"It has," the brunette nodded. "It's nice to talk to other people who can empathize, who get the kind of pain I experience. And there are a lot of tips and tricks on there that I've never thought of trying."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. A lot of people say it helps to chug an energy drink as soon at the attack happens, because that sorta takes the edge off or shortens it for some people. Or for some people, it can work as an abortive, especially for the shadows," Harper explained. "On the other hand, reading so much stuff is also scary. There just seems to be no predictability with this condition and there's so much trial and error to learn how to best take care of your own cycles. It's daunting. Fuck…"

Bucky frowned at her hissed curse, prompted by another wave of tears springing to her eyes. "It's okay, doll."

"I don't want to feel like this," she sighed, rubbing at her eyes agitatedly. "I'm sorry."

"No apology necessary," he assured. He took one of her hands in his and ran his thumb affectionately back and forth across her knuckles. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Harper replied. "Thank you, James."

* * *

"Harper, you're not eating again?"

"No," she shook her head in the negative.

Bucky frowned at the brunette, bundled up on the couch in a thick blanket. "Doll, you haven't eaten dinner three of the last five times I've come over."

"I know," she sighed. "I'm genuinely not hungry. I'm exhausted."

He offered her one of the tacos from the bag he brought. "Just one?" She shook her head again. Her eyes fluttered and dimmed, fatigue weighing down her lids. Bucky paused before suggesting, "What if I stick these in the fridge and we split them after you get an hour or two of sleep?"

"That's okay," she replied softly, retreating deeper into her blanket. "Enjoy them while they're hot and fresh."

"Harper, they'll be fine. Let's get you some sleep, okay?"

She merely muttered her sleepy agreement and Bucky quickly stowed the food in the fridge before gathering her, blanket and all, in his arms. He carried her to her room, settling both of them on her bed. Automatically, Harper rolled into his side, arm draping across his middle and holding him against her. The former soldier pulled the blanket over both of them before pressing a kiss atop her head. Within moments, he heard her breathing slow with sleep.

This had been a long cycle. It had already been over four weeks, which was usually the longest Harper's cycles lasted. She had still been experiencing more shadows than usual, as well. These were bruise-like pains in the area she experienced the clusters. She had confided in him that she was afraid that her stress levels were contributing to the worse than usual cycle, but there was really no way to tell. The brunette was beginning to deeply fear that she was going chronic, which had brought her to tears several more times since her breakdown a week and a half before. It was difficult to watch her grow more and more fatigued, and more mentally broken down. She hadn't expressed any further truly concerning thoughts, but Bucky was still worried about how she was faring emotionally. And he was at a total loss for what to do. What good was he – what could he possibly provide to her – when he was so fucked up himself?

Harper murmured something unintelligible in her sleep, pressing her face harder into his arm. Bucky used his expert body control to refrain from tensing. A whimper parted her lips, as he knew it would. He breathed a deep breath through his nose, preparing himself to witness her next attack. His stomach churned, and he wished more than anything else that he could take her pain on as his own. Harper didn't deserve the terrible pain, but he most certainly could experience it as some semblance of penance for his heinous past. The brunette whimpered again, body going rigid and the arm around his torso tightening. He knew she was awake now, and placed a gentle hand to the small of her back.

"Fuck, James," she let out as a sob.

"I know, darlin', I know," he soothed.

She pulled away from him, sitting up and dropping her face to her hands, body rocking back and forth as the cluster dug its claws into the right side of her face. Blue eyes watched helplessly, guiltily. He wished he had gotten to her apartment earlier, had convinced her to get some sleep sooner, so that he could've gotten her to eat a bit. He knew there would be no getting her to eat after this attack, especially once the dread of the final and worst attack of the night hit. He needed to be a better support to her, to watch out for her more. She didn't like being cared for, but his nudging toward self-care was usually accepted. He resolved to use that more to make sure she stayed as healthy as she could.

When she stopped rocking, the tears stopped flowing, and her sobs turned to distraught sniffles, Harper reached for him. He slipped into her weakly outstretched arms, wrapping his arms around her gingerly. He didn't want to put too much pressure anywhere on her, sensitive as she became after attacks. Harper tucked the left side of her face into his neck, wetting his skin with the remnants of her tears.

"Are you sure you want to deal with this long-term?"

His chest clenched at the idea that she would think he wouldn't want her, and at the idea that she wanted to be with him for the foreseeable future. Feathering a kiss to the top of her head, he assured, "Darlin', I can't guarantee you forever, but there is absolutely nothing about you that would make me leave. I want to be with you for as long as it is safe for you, for as long as you want me to be."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"You may want to really evaluate that sentiment," she sighed. "Suppose this is forever. Can you do this for the next 60 years, assuming I'm dealing with clusters 'til I die?"

"Don't do this right now, doll. I love you, and there are far worse things I've spent years doing. This is a way I can be there for you, and even when it's not easy, it's more than worth it. Let's get some food in you and then go to bed, okay?"

"I'm too tired to eat," she muttered, as he knew she would. Harper all but flopped down on her side of the bed. Her tired limbs struggled to worm beneath her comforter, but Bucky knew not to assist lest she feel coddled.

"Then we'll get some sleep," he amended.

"James, I feel really badly that you've been over here so much lately. I know it hasn't been fun being with me the last several weeks. You really can stay home, you know."

"Harper," Bucky said firmly, "don't worry. I get to spoon you; it isn't a loss for me at all."

He gave her a charming smirk, which earned him a laugh. With a small smile, she conceded, "Okay. See you in a few hours for the next one."

* * *

The next attack never came. Bucky awoke early the next morning, Harper still sleeping soundly beside him. He was immeasurably relieved to realize that her cluster cycle seemed to have ended. Deciding to let the exhausted brunette sleep her fill, he carefully extracted his limbs from hers and slipped out of the bed. After closing her bedroom door behind him and feeding the orange cat that had followed him out of her room, Bucky plucked a book from one of the bookshelves in the living room and settled down in the armchair with it. To his mild displeasure, Aslan joined him, curling up in his lap.

Blue eyes gazed down into wide green ones. Normally, the old feline paid him no mind, or acted with hostility and jealousy toward him. The former soldier sighed and turned to the book he had selected – the first in the _Chronicles of Narnia_ series. He'd been curious since Harper had talked about them so passionately.

A couple hours passed, and Bucky was well and truly sucked into the tale. In part, no doubt, because Harper had actually written in this book, jotting down quick thoughts and highlighting favorite lines. It felt like he was reading with her, and he loved seeing which passages captured her attention and affection most. He grinned to himself, already looking forward to discussing the book so far over a lunch of leftover tacos. But then, his heart warmed, seeing an excerpt she had highlighted.

_"Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight, At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more, When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death, And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again."_

* * *

"Your sisters are FaceTiming you!" Bucky called in the direction of the bathroom.

"I'm elbow deep in the litter box!" Harper called back. "Can you get it?"

Bucky shouted his agreement before answering the call. He had spoken with Harper's younger sisters a few times before. They were sweet, albeit excitable, kids. They were only a year apart and exceptionally close, even choosing the same college. He knew that Harper, in some ways, felt left out given their close bond, but their age differences were also relatively substantial at Harper's 26 to their 21 and 20.

"The fuck took so long, Harp- Oh, hey, James!"

"Hey, Jordan," he greeted the older of the two. She had light brown hair and was the sister more similar in features to Harper. Looking at the other sibling, who had unnaturally bright blonde hair, he greeted, "Hey, Natalie."

"How're you?" Natalie asked with a bright grin.

"I'm good," he nodded. "You guys?

"Good!" the blonde answered. She lifted a bottle of beer into frame. "Day drinkin'."

"Ah," he acknowledged, then chuckled again. "What's the occasion?"

"It's Saturday," Natalie responded by way of explanation.

"We were calling because we were hoping to see if Harper is shedding her granny panties for once and going out tonight. Please tell me you answered her phone 'cause she's in the bathroom curling her hair or doing an at-home Brazilian or something?" Jordan interjected.

"Ah, no," he shook his head, fighting a flush at her latter suggestion. "Just cleaning Aslan's box."

"Oh. Sexy," Jordan drawled with a roll of her eyes. She was definitely the sister with the most attitude. "Sorry, my dude. Our sister never used to be such a grandma."

Bucky heard Harper's footsteps approaching, and was unsurprised when she leaned over the arm of the couch to appear in frame. "Oh, fuck off, you little ho."

"Not nice!" Natalie accused.

Jordan grinned devilishly. "I mean, in comparison to you, sis… Though, that's not hard. Even Natalie is a ho compared to you."

Harper shrugged. "I could still drink circles around you two if it wasn't for the clusters."

"Seriously, Harper, how have you been with this dude for this long without jumping his bones?"

"Can we not talk about James like he isn't here?" Harper asked pointedly.

Jordan rolled her eyes. "Sure, sure. James tells us you guys have no plans this fine Saturday evening?"

"We're watching the _Narnia_ movies, actually," Harper said.

"That's no fun, sis!" Natalie protested. "We're worried you're letting the clusters take away all your youth and fun."

"Natalie! Tact!" Jordan immediately scolded.

Harper sighed. "Not a conversation I want to have with you two until you're both sober."

"Fat chance of that," giggled the blonde, lifting her bottle to her lips again.

"Cute," Harper rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine," Jordan sighed. "Later this week, we'll talk for real. 'Til then, try to have some fun with that super fucking hot boyfriend of yours, 'kay? And, James, thanks for taking care of our boring ass sister."

"Uhh… sure?" he managed unsurely.

Harper scoffed, flipped the camera the bird, and ended the call. "Children, the both of them."

Bucky read between the lines and could pick out Harper's affection for her sisters, despite how different they were from her. He smiled fondly, before teasing, "So, they think I'm hot?"

"James!"

* * *

A/N: So many thanks for all of the support and to everyone who has just recently found this story! I'm super grateful! Also, apologies for the late update. Harper may not be able to drink, but I still can. As such, I couldn't quite make final edits and post yesterday. I'll still post tomorrow as usual despite this late chapter. Thank you again for all of the reviews, follows, and favorites!


	26. Chapter 26

Content Warning: Adult situations toward the end of the chapter.

* * *

_A dark road on a cold December night. The warm engine vibrating beneath him as he flew over the asphalt. Blue eyes were locked on a sedan a quarter mile ahead of him which he was rapidly catching up to. He maneuvered the motorcycle easily, pulling alongside the car and speeding ever closer until the driver veered away, losing control. The deafening crunch of metal succumbing to a tree trunk erupted behind him. He pulled the motorcycle back around, doubling back to where the car had crashed. He needed to dispose of the witnesses before securing the payload._

_ He dismounted from the bike, watching blankly as the man with white hair crawled across the frozen dirt. The assassin approached, grabbed the man and pulling him up to a seated position. Brown eyes gazed up at him, and he saw recognition in them. The man breathed a name, a name that caused pause. Did that name mean something to him?_

_ The woman was shouting now, which meant he had to work quickly lest all the ruckus attract more witnesses. Drawing back his metal fist, the man's words were forgotten as the assassin ended him. The brunet moved swiftly to the passenger side of the car to the blonde woman, prim dress and jewelry stained with her blood. He reached in with his flesh hand, fingers wrapping firmly around her throat. It didn't take long for silence to take her, too. Belatedly, he noticed a traffic camera. He disposed of it with a single shot off his handgun. The assassin verified the payload and secured it, hopping back onto his motorcycle and speeding away, ready to lie low in a safe house for a few days before returning to his handler. The image of the recognition and confusion in the older man's eyes fading along with his life was wholly forgotten._

* * *

Bucky shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. He brought shaking hands up to his face, stifling a groan. Those brown eyes had recognized him – recognized a _friend_ – before he…

The former assassin had to get up. He couldn't lie beside Harper like this. She'd wake up, surely, and he shouldn't be in her bed with her anyway. He was a fucking _murderer_ after all. He slipped out of bed and silently exited her room, closing the door behind him. Aslan had perked up when Bucky had awoken, but upon seeing the man leaving, had laid his head back down on Harper's leg. He never did give her much personal space, especially not to sleep.

He paced soundlessly for some time, wishing he could forget the look in Howard's eyes, or the feeling of the woman's fading pulse beneath his hand. When pacing proved futile, he tried drinking a glass of water, but that just made him feel ill. At a loss, he moved to Harper's bookshelf, pulling out the next book in the _Narnia_ series.

Many hours passed and Bucky got to a passage Harper had highlighted that made his chest tighten with emotion. He hadn't realized that he had frozen, staring at the page and her small handwriting, until he was startled back into awareness.

"James? Are you alright?" Harper's voiced asked gently, much too close given that he hadn't even been aware of her approach.

"Y-yeah," he replied, shakier than he had anticipated. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, did I wake you?"

"No," she shook her head. "I woke up and you were gone. Are you sure you're alright?"

Bucky nodded once. "I had a flashback."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He hesitated for a long moment. Harper said nothing, merely kneeled beside the armchair he was perched in. He gazed into her warm cinnamon eyes and admitted, "I was ordered to kill someone who used to be an ally. And his wife."

Harper nodded slowly, eyes glancing down to what he was reading. He thought he saw a shift in her expression, but it was gone and she was looking back up at him again before he could even be sure he had seen anything. Gently, she said, "I'm sorry you had to do that, James. You've carried too many burdens."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she stood, silencing him. The brunette perched on the arm of the chair, reaching for him and gently running her fingers through his long, sleep-tousled hair. He relaxed beneath her touch, and she gently pulled him into her side.

Still stroking his hair, she whispered aloud the very passage that had stilled him, "'_Courage, dear heart,' and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face. In a few moments the darkness turned into a greyness ahead, and then, almost before they dared to begin hoping, they had shot out into the sunlight and were in the warm, blue world again._"

"I love you, Harper," he muttered into her sweatshirt, blue eyes closing tight against the deluge of emotion.

"I love you, too, James," she replied. "Courage, dear heart. You, too, will eventually be free of this darkness."

* * *

"Foreigner!"

Bucky smiled at the friendly greeting and returned it, "Florin."

The fisherman/restauranteur grinned brightly at the former soldier. "I assume you're pleased that spring has arrived?"

"Very," admitted the brunet, pulling another huge crab trap into place on the boat.

"Will I have you for another summer?"

"That's the plan," Bucky nodded. "How is your family?"

"Good, good. My son, he has begun work in the kitchen now. I'm not getting any younger, so I'm glad he's beginning to learn what he needs to in order to take over the business someday. And you? How is your girlfriend?"

"She's doing well," Bucky answered simply, but couldn't quite keep the smile off his face when thinking about Harper.

"Glad to hear it. She was sick for a while a couple months back, no?"

"She was," the former soldier confirmed with a nod. "She gets really sick a few times a year."

"That's difficult," Florin frowned.

"She's tough," Bucky replied.

"How long have you been together now?"

"It was a year last month," Bucky answered, smile widening. It had been a good month, with both his birthday and their one year to celebrate. Things were good, and he was beyond happy.

"That's not nothing, foreigner," Florin smiled. "Good for you both."

* * *

"That bitch!" Harper shrieked as Bucky was letting himself into her apartment. He laughed, closing the door behind him and toeing off his work boots. Harper snapped, "It's not funny! I'm gonna kill Kat!"

"Why?" he asked, walking into the kitchen. Harper stood in front of the sink, halfway through washing some dishes, with her phone in her hands. She had clearly been taken from the task by whatever disaster her phone had brought her attention to.

"She reposted this awful video of us and our other roommate, Tawny, from college. I'm gonna kill her for this!"

"It can't be that bad," Bucky frowned moving closer behind her to peer over her shoulder. Harper quickly held the phone to her chest, hiding the screen from him.

"No way!" she protested.

"C'mon, doll," he pleaded, giving her his best puppy dog eyes.

"Not gonna work!"

He took that as a challenge and reached for her, pulling her into his arms before she could slip away. His fingers dug into her side, finding one of her most ticklish spots immediately.

"James!" she shouted through her laughter. "No fair!"

"All is fair in love and war," he reminded, managing to worm her phone out of her grasp with his other hand. Victorious, he let her go with a grin.

"James, please don't," Harper frowned, recovering quickly from all the laughter. "It's not a good look for me."

"No such thing," he argued, leaning down to place a sweet peck to her forehead. Turning back to his prize, he pressed the 'Play' button on her screen. Immediately, what Bucky could only label 'Fucking music' began blaring through her phone's speakers. The video was of Harper, Kat, and a tall redhead at a club. His eyes widened, seeing Harper dressed in tight black jeans and a tight, daringly low cut black top with bell sleeves. He had hardly ever seen so much cleavage on her. She also wore strappy heels that added several inches to her height. The other women were similarly dressed, and all appeared much younger.

What was more surprising than the outfit, however, was the way Harper was dancing. She was getting down and dirty with the rest of the club patrons, twisting her hips and flipping her hair along to the low, sensual beat. Her torso shimmied and swayed, and he couldn't help but look at her supple curves in the top she had donned. His tongue lashed out across his lower lip unconsciously.

"If you're horny, Let's do it, Ride it, my pony, My saddle's waitin', Come and jump on in it," the singer crooned. Harper grabbed Kat and spun her before pulling the smaller girl against her. Harper began gyrating against the other woman, rolling her hips on beat. Kat responded in kind, grinding her bottom against Harper. The redhead, Tawny, joined in, rocking her body against Harper's backside. In what was one of the most erotic displays Bucky had ever witnesses, due perhaps to his upbringing, the three women moved as one sexy unit of curves and long hair.

Harper snatched the phone from his slack grip, and his eyes moved slowly to look at her. She was a brilliant red, the blush disappearing beneath her t-shirt. Before he could say anything, she defended, "We were 20 and managed to get into that club with our fake IDs. We were wasted, and stupid, and I'd never do something like that now, and…"

"Well, I hope that's not true." Harper looked up at him with questioning eyes. He continued, "Doll, if you can move like that, even my wildest dreams of lovin' you won't compare to the real thing. Fuck, you're sexy."

"James!" she spluttered, blush somehow deepening. "That was six years and like… twenty pounds ago, I'm not-"

"Must be why your tits look even better now," he cut her off, eying her salaciously. He approached her, effectively backing her up against the counter. Bracing a hand on either side of her, he leaned down and captured her lips in a heated kiss.

Harper remained frozen for a moment, clearly caught off guard. Ever since their disastrous attempt at intimacy on Christmas, they hadn't shared more than chaste kisses and fleeting touches. Slowly, she responded and her fervor gradually grew to match his. His tongue parted her lips and met hers, and he moaned at her taste. He had missed kissing her like this, had missed the rush triggered by tasting her, touching her. One hand moved to cradle the back of her head, tilting her back so he could better plunder her mouth. His other hand found her hip, gently squeezing.

Harper's hands rose to his chest, fingers splaying as she felt the hard planes of muscle beneath them. Bucky pulled his lips from hers, and both breathed in deep, shaky breaths. He resealed their lips, hand moving from her hip to caress the curve of her ass through her leggings. Harper kissed him back harder, pressing herself into him as her tongue slid across his. The former soldier nipped at her lower lip before drawing it between his own, tugging and suckling. She responded by lightly digging her nails into his shoulders.

His actions verging on those of a possessed man, he quickly placed both hands on the back of her thighs and lifted her up, causing her legs to wrap around his hips automatically. He swallowed her gasp with his lips, holding her body tightly against his. She was so warm, so soft, so curvy...

"Fuck, Harper," he breathed, placing light kisses along her jaw and neck as he struggled to control his breathlessness.

"James?"

"I want you," he muttered, placing a tender kiss to her lips before resting his forehead against hers. The brunette looked into his eyes, and he gazed back. He wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she didn't seem put off by whatever she found. He carried her to her bedroom, closing the door behind them and triggering an annoyed mewl from the old feline which had tried to follow.

Bucky deposited the young woman on the bed, following before she could even scoot back. He locked their lips, hands roaming her shoulders, arms, and the hourglass dips in her sides. Her fingers feathered over his shoulders, crawled tantalizingly over his shoulder blades and across the taut muscles of his back. Pulling back for only a moment, he shed his shirt, allowing her greater access to his body. She sighed against his mouth, fingers finding the skin they had sought. He let her touch him, explored the skin and scars. His flesh hand slipped beneath her t-shirt and found her breast which, to his pleasant surprise, was bare and already peaked by a hard nipple.

"We weren't planning to go anywhere, so when I changed out of my work clothes I figured… may as well be comfortable," she muttered, face flushing with embarrassment.

"That's so fuckin' hot, doll," he breathed, tweaking her nipple for emphasis. She squeaked and shifted uncomfortably, her thighs tightening giving him no doubts as to what really had her squirming. He lightly squeezed her full breasts leaning back just enough so that his weight wasn't on her. His metal fingers pinched and pulled her other nipple before flicking it relentlessly back and forth. He heard the breath catch in her throat, and a wicked grin pulled at his lips. Quickly, he divested the brunette of her t-shirt, throwing it carelessly behind him. Blue eyes found the revealed skin, as much to his liking as ever. "You really do have perfect tits."

The former soldier bowed his head, lips sealing around the less abused nipple. He suckled for a moment, for his own pleasure, before teasing the nub with the tip of his tongue in the way she seemed to prefer. Sure enough, she breathed, "_Shit_, James…"

His flesh hand roamed her side, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her leggings and pulling them down her legs as far as he could reach. He pulled back, intent on gazing at the newly exposed skin, but Harper caught his face in her hand. Blue eyes looked into her flushed face curiously.

"Don't," she muttered. "I wasn't exactly expecting this to happen tonight. I'm not really… appropriately dressed."

"What… like… not wearing something lacey and scandalous?" he teased.

"Decidedly not."

"Darlin', that doesn't matter to me," he assured.

"Well, it matters to me," she replied, reaching down and around him to pull off whatever undergarments she wore for herself. He pulled off his jeans and underwear in one motion as she did so. With everything tossed aside, the couple stilled, the position they were in seeming to dawn on them.

Bucky locked his eyes with hers and asked gently, "Is this okay?"

Harper was silent for a full minute before she replied, "I think so."

"That… doesn't sound certain," he pointed out.

"For now, I'm okay," she amended more confidently.

"Well, keep me posted, okay?"

Her lips tugged up in a small smile. "Will do."

His hands returned to her breasts and he covered her lips with his. When she was once again squirming and arching into him, he allowed his flesh hand to slip down her torso. His fingers traced the curve of her hip before moving, searching out the neat patch of dark curls that would guide his hand to its destination. In moments, he found her womanhood, dripping with arousal. His lips slowed against hers, kissing her deeper, more ardently, more intimately. His index finger rubbed up and down her nether lips, gently working between them and relishing in the heat. Bucky rubbed gently at her opening, feeling her tense slightly. He moved upward, finding her clit instead. She inhaled unsteadily, and he circled her pleasure center lightly, teasingly. He tapped the nub with the pad of his finger, and she jumped, her back arching when he continued the motion. With more vigor, he rubbed at her clit and rolled it between his knuckles.

"Fuck," she hissed, thighs twitching in pleasure.

Bucky moved back down to her opening, rubbing the tip of his finger there. Harper tensed immediately and muttered, "Wait, James. I… stop, please."

He did so immediately, removing his hand from her and looking back up at her. To his horror, her bright brown eyes were glassy. "Harper?"

"I need to stop."

* * *

A/N: Thank you all so much for all of the support! We're officially at 100 followers, and my mind is a little blown. Apologies for those who are more into fluff, as we are in the midst of a spicy intermission. I'm grateful for everyone sticking with me and for all of your feedback!


	27. Chapter 27

Content warning: Adult situations throughout the chapter.

* * *

Harper lifted her hands to hide her face and fell silent. Bucky moved back up her body, hovering over her without touching her. Gently, he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. His voice low and tender, he asked, "What's goin' on, doll?"

"I'm just… thinking about last time," she muttered.

"Somethin' like that isn't ever gonna happen again." He gently pulled her hands from her face. "I won't hurt you like that again."

"I know, James, I just… I can't understand why you'd want me." She looked away, avoiding his eyes. "I mean… you're the one who's sexy."

"I don't have gorgeous tits, or curves, or sexy thighs, or a wet, responsive-"

"James!" she squeaked, her blush darkening.

He smirked and said, "Well, it's true. I fucking love how turned on you get."

"And if I bleed again?"

"Well, I don't want to cause you pain," Bucky answered, more serious once again. "But nothing could deter me except you telling me to stop."

There was noticeable hesitation before she continued, "And if I don't know what I'm doing? If I can't cum?"

"I don't expect you to be an intuitive sex goddess, Harper. And I'm more than serious when I say that I want you so bad that I will absolutely cum with no sexual prowess on your part. And while I'd love for you to get there, it's really alright if you don't. Then I pay your clit some attention and you get off that way. Or not; whatever you want. I just… I want to be close to you in that way, as long as you'll let me."

She replied quietly, "You sure about this?"

"Absolutely," he answered firmly. "But only if you want to."

"Yeah, okay," Harper nodded slowly. "I want you, too, you know. I'm just… my confidence is still shaken."

"What can I do to help that?"

"I'm not sure," she frowned.

Bucky was quiet for a moment before asking, "Are you still uninterested in having me eat you out?"

"Are you absolutely sure that you want to?" Harper countered. "Like you're really gonna be into it? Even with me?"

"Of course with you!" Bucky asserted. "Why wouldn't I be?"

One glance at her face told him what she was unwilling to say out loud. She was still deeply unsure about her body. The thought that she was worried that he wouldn't be able to enjoy her because she wasn't the picture of modern day beauty had his chest clenching painfully. "Harper, I couldn't be more serious when I say that I genuinely find you beautiful. I've entertained many fantasies of me between your thighs. If I ate you, you'd see firsthand how hot I am for you."

"Alright," she conceded almost inaudibly. "Try it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then lay back, enjoy the ride, and talk to me if you need to."

The brunette did so, watching him warily as he lowered himself between her legs. He gently prodded her thighs farther apart, allowing him better access. The former soldier began first by flicking and massaging her clit again, slowly but steadily plunging her back into arousal. Leaning forward, he cautiously flattened his tongue against her dripping slit, working his way up to her jewel with one broad stroke of the lithe muscle. His tongue took over for his fingers, teasing her clit and tracing nonsensical shapes across it. Her body was tense again, but she didn't ask him to stop.

Bucky closed his lips around the sensitive nub, sucking and fluttering his tongue against it. He rested his head against her thigh, ready and excited for the challenge of getting her off. He hadn't eaten a woman in over seventy years. The taste was still intoxicating. He loved it, loved her. Variation and exploration – he cycled between licking, kissing, sucking all around her womanhood. His metal hand reached up her torso, palming her breast and grazing her nipple.

Backing off slightly, Bucky trailed kisses and nips over her inner thighs, eyes scanning her face. She was flushed and her eyes were closed, her teeth clamped down on her lower lip. That she had been quiet didn't worry him; Harper tended to be silent until she got closer to an orgasm and the cursing began. He returned to her center, hungrily taking an inner lip into his mouth. Working back up to her clit, he varied his technique, but also his pacing and fervor. Slow and rough, fast and gentle, slow and deep, fast and hard. Finally, he heard the change in her breathing that told him that she was well and truly enjoying his efforts.

Several more minutes flew by before he heard her whisper, "Fuck, James."

"Gettin' close, doll?"

She hummed her affirmation and he decided to go in for a strong finish. He lifted his head from her thigh and used both hands to push her knees back toward her chest, opening her up to him even more. With nearly unencumbered access, Bucky zeroed in on the hard nub. With the tip of his tongue, he began flicking her bean back and forth unrelentingly, mirroring the way she most liked her nipples touched. A squeak flew from her lips, and he lost himself, burrowing into her like a crazed man. His hands each squeezed a breast as he ate his fill until she suddenly went stiff and a shaky breath parted her lips. After a long moment, her body relaxed and she lay fully back against the bed. Careful not to overstimulate her, the former soldier lapped up the flood of arousal dripping from her core, eyes roaming her satisfied figure as he did so.

Finally, he pulled away and moved to hover over the brunette once again.

"So?" he asked. "Still doubt that I'm crazy attracted to you?"

"That level of… enthusiasm seems difficult to fake," she conceded through heaving breaths.

He watched her chest rise and fall for a moment. "I'm not faking it."

"I still don't get it," she laughed breathlessly.

"I wish you did," Bucky muttered. "But maybe you don't have to understand. Maybe you just have to know."

There was something he couldn't name in her eyes as she asked, "Kiss me?"

He gave her his lips, which she accepted reverently. Time slowed and little existed for him outside of Harper. Their lips and tongues moved in a harmonious, sensual dance. He took her hand in his, pulling back so he could kiss her palm. Gently, he asked, "Can I show you more proof?"

Her face flushed, indicating she knew exactly what he meant. Her hand squeezed his lightly, and he guided it to the base of his cock. He wrapped her fingers around him before guiding it up the shaft to the head which had been steadily leaking. By way of explanation, he said, "From everything, but especially from finally getting to eat you."

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," she replied coyly, though the shy flush on her cheeks remained. "It seems like you may need some relief now, though."

It dawned on him then. "Wait… _fuck_."

"What?" she asked, already looking stung with rejection.

"I don't have a condom this time," he grimaced. "And you're not on anything, right?"

"No; I used to be, but hormones make me feel terrible," she confirmed. "Wait a second."

She sat up, and he moved back to give her space. Twisting, she reached into her nightstand drawer. A dark brow rose on the brunet's face when a foil packet was handed to him as well as a bottle of lube. Harper clarified, "That's the one from last time, and I figured that when we tried again, we should do everything possible to prevent discomfort and bleeding."

"Are you sure, darlin'?"

"I was sure last time, and I'm sure this time," she answered with a firm nod.

He stole a quick kiss before unwrapping the condom and rolling it on. Blue eyes watched hungrily as Harper warmed the lube between her fingers before reaching down and spreading it over her already weeping lips. Another round was warmed up and he watched as this time her fingers disappeared within her. "Fuck, doll, I'm getting ideas for the future."

"Pervert," she accused with a laugh and a coquettish grin. "How do you want me this time?"

"In my lap at first, so you can have more control. Then under me."

"Okay," Harper agreed, applying one last round of lube.

Bucky tossed the bottle to the side and gathered her in his arms, pulling her to hover over his lap, a knee astride each of his hips. He rubbed at her clit again for a moment before grasping his shaft in his hand and sliding the tip along her slit. Her face was entirely neutral, but he heard the catch in her breathing that gave away her nervousness as he placed himself at her entrance. With his metal hand, he tilted her chin up so he could meet her gaze. "I love you."

Her response was an immediate long, fervent kiss. Slowly, carefully, he guided her to sink onto him. She took it at her own pace, which he had wanted and which had informed his suggested position. He wasn't especially gifted in length – average, really – but girth had always been a source of pride. He knew she'd need to slowly adjust to that, but _god_ it was agonizing to not be able to just bury himself in her. If he had thought tasting a woman after seventy years had been amazing, there were no words to describe being sheathed in one again.

"Oh my god, Harper," he moaned, head falling backward as he struggled to remain in control of his base urges. If he had less control, he could've cum already.

"Okay?" she asked, her voice sounding somewhat strained.

"Much better than okay," he answered, looking into her face again. "You?"

The brunette hesitated a moment, shifting her hips so that she slid down the final inch. She was fully seated in his lap, entirely impaled on his cock. "It hurts a bit, and it's… a little uncomfortable to feel… stretched like this? I don't know how to explain it."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No," she shook her head adamantly. With a chuckle, she added, "I want you to fuck me."

"Well how could I deny that request?" Bucky smirked. "Move on me a little first, though."

She looked instantly unsure and asked, "How?"

"However feels alright to you." He assured, "Trust me, anything you could do right now is gonna feel good to me. But until you're more comfortable, I don't wanna be on top."

The brunette placed her hands on his shoulders for support as she slowly rose up on her knees, allowing herself to move back up his length. Her bright brown eyes flicked to his face before zeroing back in on herself, suspended with just the head of his cock inside her. Back down she moved, still torturously slowly, before she rotated her hips in small circles. This continued for a time before Harper stilled, looking up at him with cheeks that were still pink.

"Swap?"

"You feel okay?" he asked, searching her face for any signs of pain.

Harper nodded, shimmying her hips slightly as if to prove that she had acclimated. He wrapped his arms around her and shifted them as one unit, laying her down beneath him. She reached behind her and pulled a pillow beneath her head, before looking up at him again. Smiling warmly, he mentioned, "Your eyes are so pretty, doll."

"My eyes?" she asked, both brows rising. "I've never met anyone with eyes as blue as yours."

He sealed their lips, tongue lashing out as he pulled his hips back. He slid from her velvet core, pausing before burying himself once again. A moan fell from his lips at the same time she hissed a breath between hers. Bucky let out a shaky breath, struggling now that he was in control not to lose himself to pleasure seeking. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before muttering an apology against her skin.

The former soldier closed his eyes, concentrating on the body control he had mastered through many years of training and covert operations. He set a slow, gentle pace, distracting himself as much as he could by focusing on kissing her neck and palming her breasts. It wasn't terribly long before he began to realize that seven decades of celibacy trumped expert self-control. Harper seemed to sense his inner turmoil, adjusting her legs to fall a bit wider so he could press more deeply into her.

"C'mon, James," she muttered encouragingly. "Let me have you. I can take it."

"Yeah?" he breathed, sweat beading at his hairline already from the effort of staying in control.

"Yeah," she assured, running her nails in a path along his spine.

That cracked his resolve, and he snapped his hips forward, face falling to the crook of her neck and shoulder. His metal hand hiked her right leg up and around his waist before bracing on the mattress. With his flesh hand, he sought her clit, dimly determined that she feel at least somewhat good while he chased his release. The brunet alternated between nipping, kissing, and huffing his pleasure into the curve of her neck, mind deliciously blank as he sank continuously into her wet heat. Her hands ran feather light circuits over his shoulder blades and lower back, every so often scratching lightly at the skin stretched taut over flexing muscle.

"Shit, Harper," he groaned before biting down perhaps too roughly on her shoulder. She made no sound of protest at his action, merely lifting a hand to push his hair from his damp forehead. Her fingers threaded through the long strands, settling at his nape and pressing him against her. Struck by a sudden desire, he breathed, "Pull."

"What?"

"My hair," he ground out through grit teeth, tugging her leg at his waist even higher up to grant himself full access to her depths.

She acquiesced to his request, weaving locks of his hair between her fingers and tugging. The movement was markedly unsure and none too rough, but pleasure shot through his body nonetheless. "Lil harder."

A jolt of electricity shot from his scalp straight to his dick when she pulled at his hair again, but with more fervor. He hissed a string of curses when her fist tightened its grip at the locks at the base of his neck, the slight stinging pain heightening the immense pleasure of pounding into her. His thumb danced erratically over her clit, his metal hand gripping her breast like a lifeline. Nothing existed – he was a mere creature lost to sensation. Blue eyes squeezed shut tightly and his hips became sloppy and desperate in their movement. Suddenly, the coil in his abdomen tightened. His body stilled and tensed, except to press instinctually as deeply into her as he could as he came. Vision white, body on fire. The muscles in his lower back twitched as he unleashed.

As he just barely began to come down from the orgasmic high, a string of curses and nearly nonsensical praise for the beautiful brunette tumbled from his lips. Panting breaths fanned across her skin, his forehead having fallen to her collarbone. He was dimly aware of her gently rubbing circles into his back. Bucky couldn't believe that it had all finally happened. The most incredible woman he'd ever met, who had always graced him with more understanding and acceptance than he could've hoped for, had allowed him the honor of being her first. A distinction he absolutely did not deserve. He had hurt her numerous times, and he had no business loving someone who had done nothing but good with her life. But she had let him, had trusted him, had helped him find release in her.

He muttered his thanks against her lips before kissing her deeply, not caring that it probably sounded crazy to offer gratitude in that position. Gathering himself just slightly, he managed, "D'you need to cum?"

She hummed in the positive, bringing him back to reality a little more. He pulled out of her, quickly removing and disposing of the condom in her wastepaper basket by her nightstand. His brain was still foggy as he took her lips and began circling her clit again. It was rather on autopilot that he built up her pleasure, his fingers already having a feel for what she liked. When her breaths turned a bit more ragged, he forced himself to shake out of his own reverie, more actively attending to her body. He saw in the way she bit her lip that she was close, adjusting to rub the nub rapidly with just the pad of his index finger. Her lower back curved off the mattress slightly, and she let out a light groan as she came. Bucky watched her body relax and her chest rise and fall as she tried to recover her breathing. He reached over to her nightstand, plucking a few tissues from the box there, and gently cleaned her of the lube and the evidence of her orgasms.

Harper absently muttered her appreciation and he responded with a tender kiss. Tossing the tissues in the basket, he wrapped her up in his arms, tucking her as fully into him as he could manage before pulling the comforter over them. He reveled in the feeling of her pressed tightly against him, her body still shaking slightly from the entire experience. Her fingers found his flesh hand, worming their way into his grasp and lacing with his. He squeezed her fingers lightly, brushing his lips across her sweat dampened temple. "I love you, Harper. More than I could ever describe."

"I love you, too," she replied, nuzzling her face into his chest. "More than I thought possible."

His heart sang, and he held her tighter. He already knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. But with her in his arms, and him feeling as whole as he had in nearly an entire lifetime, he knew that, more than that, he'd do everything for her.

* * *

A/N: Holy smokes, all. Just about 75 reviews, nearly 50 favorites, and over 100 followers. Y'all are awesome. Thank you so, so much for the support. Apologies again to the non-spice lovers. For those who enjoy their citrus spicy, I hope this didn't disappoint! I'm still feeling a little insecure about posting something that isn't totally vanilla, but also I can't stand the amount of smut that exists in fanfiction that are just super problematic (read: grossly romaticised portrayal of virginity that's rooted in sexism, first times that are explosive and magical, and tons of orgasmic vocalizations like I'm reading a porno script). So I've been trying to put aside my bashfulness to put out what I hope is less problematic citrus. Fingers crossed that has been relatively successful. Anyways, thank you again for sticking with this story!


	28. Chapter 28

Bucky awoke to the sound of a door slamming in an apartment down the hall. It jolted him upward, blue eyes already surveying the room and ears straining to detect any hint of a threat. Once he heard an argument start between two drug dealers, he relaxed. Blue eyes roamed downward to the woman beside him, a tender smile turning his lips. A head of mussed dark hair was poking out from beneath the comforter. The knowledge that she was just as bare as he was underneath the covers was both tantalizing and touching. He was still somewhat in awe that Harper had allowed everything that had transpired the night before.

The brunette stirred, as if she sensed his gaze, letting out the high pitched squeak that made his heart swell. She picked up her head and turned to look at him blearily, blinking the sleep from her eyes. With a grin, he greeted, "Good morning, beautiful."

"G'morning," she muttered, voice slightly husky with sleep. She returned his smile and shifted beneath the covers so that she was facing him. "Sleep well?"

"Very," he nodded. "Do you feel alright?"

"I'm fine," she assured. "Just a little sore. More than worth it, though."

"Yeah?"

"Of course!" she beamed. "Don't you feel closer?"

He gently pushed back the curtain of dark hair that was threatening to fall into her face. "Definitely."

Harper scooted in closer, enough to place an innocent peck on his lips. "Well, that's a good thing in my book."

"Mine, too," the former soldier assured, noticing that he was unable to stop smiling. "But I was worried that I was too rough."

She shook her head in the negative. He nodded and placed his lips over hers tenderly. Their lips moved together for several moments before he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers as a breathy laugh filled the space between them. He teased, "We're gonna need more condoms."

"Well, I presume there's a box where last night's came from," Harper replied, equally playful.

"There is," Bucky confirmed. "It will be making its way over here swiftly."

"Let me recover," the young woman laughed.

"I want to be prepared for post-recovery activity," he clarified.

Harper let out another laugh and pushed lightly at his shoulder. "Have I created a monster?"

The word had his expression faltering, and she seemed to realize immediately her blunder. "Wait, fuck, no! James, that's not what I-"

"I know, doll," he said with a smile that he was sure came off as more of a grimace.

"Shit, shit, shit, I really, _really_ didn't mean it. It just came out without thinking. I'm so sorry," she continued, eyes shining with remorse.

The former soldier cupped her cheek in his palm. "Darlin', I know. It's just a figure of speech. I know that of the two of us, you're the one who doesn't see a monster in me."

"I can't believe that after we reached such a happy place, I ruined it," the brunette lamented, the guilt still swimming in her eyes.

"I'm surprised, too. My money was on me being the harbinger of ruin. The odds were stacked that way," he jested gently, thumb swiping across her cheek lovingly. "Wanna go get some pancakes? We haven't done that in a while."

"The clusters definitely made us hermits," she agreed vaguely, expression still troubled.

"We could stop at the drug store after pancakes and pick up supplies so that we could be hermits for a whole different reason," Bucky responded, smirking suggestively.

"Recovery," Harper reminded. "I do have to be able to walk to work tomorrow, ya know."

In a different situation, Bucky might have felt flattered. Instead, he worried, "That sore?"

"No, but I'd worry about it if we went for round two right away."

"Shit, I'm sorry, doll," he frowned, brows knitting.

"It's not a big deal. Lots of muscles were engaged last night that I don't usually use. Let me just go take a quick shower and then you can shower while I get ready to head out, okay?" she asked, changing the subject.

He muttered his agreement before placing a kiss on her lips. She grinned against him before pulling away, heading for the bathroom. The former soldier heaved a sigh of frustration, flopping back into the pillows. He should have been more careful, had more self-control. He knew that she wasn't yet enjoying herself when he let loose on her, unable at the time to see how he could possibly hold back. Sitting up again, he tossed the comforter aside, blue eyes roaming the sheets. At least he hadn't made her bleed this time.

* * *

Bucky couldn't believe it had taken him so long to really dive into the bountiful world of YouTube. Sure there were tons of funny cat videos, skits, gaming, whatever. But he had recently discovered – well, Harper had recently showed him – instructional yoga videos. It was something he had been wondering about from all of his reading on holistic and somatic methods of managing trauma. However, very little sounded worse than trying to join a yoga class with other people. With his bulky frame, gloved metal hand, and total lack of experience, he'd stick out something fierce. But in the privacy of his run down little studio with his phone propped up against a book on his desk, trying it out was well within reason.

So try he had, and it was actually really enjoyable. It was a way to keep his mind occupied constructively and once he knew the poses, he found he could even turn off the pistons firing in his screwed up brain. The mental silence was more than welcome. Plus, it was an exercise that engaged his body in a totally new way. He actually found himself pleasantly sore some days from engaging an underused system of muscles. The only problem was that his hair kept getting in his face. The former soldier still liked the longer length, but it was a little too short to effectively pull back and out of his eyes. Otherwise, yoga was his new favorite way to spend his time at home.

He had a lot more free time at home, too, as his journaling had really been on the decline in the previous few months. In part because he had taken to spending more time with Harper during her most recent cluster cycle, but mostly because it seemed most of his memories had come back and had already been inked into paper. Which was probably for the best. His escape plan hinged on his go bag being ready, and it wouldn't be ready if the journals weren't secure inside of it.

The brunet raised his flesh arm skyward, trunk twisting slightly as his eyes followed where his fingers now pointed. He breathed evenly and deeply, relishing the stretch in his legs from the deep lunge he found himself in. His metal hand was braced near his front foot, and with his arms nearly extended to his full wingspan, the tight muscles between his shoulder blades were beginning to uncoil. YouTube was definitely one of the best parts of the modern world.

* * *

"Can we actually stop at the store, too, afterwards? I want to grab some cat food while we're out."

"Yeah, of course, darlin'," Bucky agreed easily. "Thanks for coming with me. I feel better when you're with me in the market when it's busy."

There was no reply, and then a slight tug on his hand brought his attention to the fact that Harper had stopped walking. He knew immediately that something was wrong. Her expression was serious, and her body was tense. The former soldier followed her gaze, noting an older man in pajamas gazing around in a daze. He looked disheveled, his hair sticking out in all directions and his shirt buttons done up incorrectly.

"Harper?"

"Listen to me very closely," she replied, not taking her eyes off the man. "Do not intervene in what I'm about to do. Stay here and call the police. Give them my name and tell them that Ivan is out without his monitor. Do not come closer, and don't let anyone other than the police approach us. Got it?"

"Harper, are you about to do something dangerous?"

"I should be fine as long as nobody interrupts me. Do you understand?" Bucky hesitated a moment; could he really just sit back and watch if she was putting herself at risk? At his silence, Harper snapped, "James!"

"Yes, I understand," he replied begrudgingly.

"Make the call."

With that, the brunette began calmly walking toward the confused man. Bucky did as he was told, watching the young woman closely as he did so.

"Good afternoon, Ivan," she greeted amicably. "It's Harper. How are you today?"

"Harper?" the man asked, squinting at her. "Harper, yes. I'm not so good today. It's too loud. Much too loud."

"Please state your emergency," the woman on the phone prompted after giving her name and identifying herself as part of the police dispatch.

"My name is… Gabe. I'm calling for Harper Montgomery. She's a uh… a social worker. She told me to call because a man called Ivan is out without his monitor?" Bucky winced at using his dead comrade's name in his lie.

"Alright, sir, where are you?"

"About a quarter mile south of the market."

Harper asked, "You're right, it is pretty loud today. Do you think it might be because of the market nearby?"

"Market? No, no, I don't go near the market."

The operator asked, "Are there a lot of people around?"

"It's not crowded, but it's busy."

The brunette nodded. "Oh, right, you told me that you don't go to the market. I forget sometimes."

"I forget sometimes, too," the man said, brows knitting with concern.

"It happens to the best of us."

"And is Miss Montgomery engaging with the man?"

"Yes," Bucky confirmed, jaw tight.

"So what brought you out of the house today, Ivan?"

The man scowled and said, "They were watching me. I had to get away."

"I'm sending a few officers your way, sir. They should be just a few minutes"

"Thank you." Bucky ended the call.

"Who was watching you at your house?"

"The government!" Ivan exclaimed, waving his hands for emphasis. "I woke up and had a chain on my leg. They were keeping me there, locked up. There were cameras, too. I'm sure of it!"

"Your monitor?" Harper asked gently. "That isn't to keep you at home; it's to keep you safe. We talked about this a few months ago."

"How would that evil thing keep me safe?"

"It lets the police know when you leave home so that they can help you find your way back. I know that can be difficult sometimes."

"The police? Where Marius works?"

"Exactly," Harper nodded.

Ivan looked pensive for a moment before scowling at the brunette. "I still don't want to go back there if they're watching me."

"Nobody is watching you, Ivan," Harper continued with a firm, but kind tone.

"Well these people sure are," the man spat, gazing around at the crowd of people who had stalled their walk to and from the market to look at the disgruntled man. He shouted, "What the fuck are you all staring at? Are you the ones watching? Is this an ambush? You fuckers!"

"Ivan, it's alright," Harper asserted. "They're just regular people. They're looking because they're worried about you."

"They don't have no reason to be worried about me," he grimaced. "Unless they really are the Watchers. They're gonna hurt me. I'm gonna get as many as I can before they get me. I won't be going down easy. Ya hear that, you fuckin' evil shits?!"

Bucky saw the shift in the man's eyes, the way his expression twisted with determination as he accepted this new plan. Everything in him was screaming to grab Harper and whisk her away to safety. But she showed no signs of fear or stress; she stood her ground and continued to speak with the man in an even voice.

"You don't need to do that. Marius should be here soon and he can bring you home and check for any cameras. I know there weren't any when I saw you a few weeks ago. We looked after you had your tea."

Turning his angry gaze on Harper now, he seethed, "How do I know you haven't been deceiving me this whole time? Maybe we didn't find the cameras because you knew where to keep me from looking. Maybe you planted them!"

Harper laughed, and Bucky's breath caught in his chest. Did she want to get hurt?! He was sweating and nearly shaking with the effort of holding himself back like Harper had implored him to. The young woman, laughter fading, asked, "Ivan, do you really think I'd do something to harm you? We've known each other for almost two years. I've been with you since the accident. If I wanted to do something, wouldn't I have done it back then?"

The man's expression fell and he tilted his head, considering her words. Harper continued to reason, "How about we wait for Marius to get here and then you guys go home and check for cameras. If you don't find any, he can call me Monday morning and I'll visit you that day so we can talk about some other things that may help you without you having to wear something that feels like chains, okay?"

"I want Marius to take the chain away today."

"Alright, he can do that. I'll pick it up from him Monday and send it away."

"Good."

The sound of hurried feet met his ears and Bucky glanced back to see three men in police uniforms approaching. He adjusted his hat lower across his face and pretended to be a mere curious bystander. Two stopped short, several feet away from him, while the third approach Harper and the man. "Dad, what're you doing?"

Harper explained, "Ivan's monitor feels like it could be a chain installed by the Watchers. He came here to get away. We were just saying that it would be best if he returned home with you and checked for cameras."

Bucky watched, finally relaxing as the arrival of the man's son seemed to have calmed him down even more than Harper had. Harper explained the rest of the plan Ivan had agreed to, his son nodding along.

"Alright, Dad, let's go start searching," Marius said finally. Though well veiled, Bucky still caught the exhaustion in his voice. The middle aged man looked at Harper and said, "Thank you again, ma'am. I hate to think what would've happened if you hadn't been here."

"Right place, right time," Harper waved off his thanks. She looked up at Ivan, who was now picking at his nails and staring absently at the ground. "Ivan, if you guys don't find any cameras, I want you to stay at home until I see you Monday. You need to stay safe so that we can keep having tea together, okay?"

Ivan looked up at her, blinking once before he smiled. Bucky's heart nearly stopped when the man wrapped her up in a hug. The thought of a violent person touching her had his hands clenching and his body itching to put himself between her and the potential danger. But Harper returned the gesture easily. Luckily, it was short-lived as Marius gently guided his father away from the brunette and they took their leave. The other two officers thanked Harper, and they made small chat for a few minutes before they left to return to their duties, thankfully never paying heed to the onlookers.

Finally, Bucky approached Harper. He embraced her before she could speak, needing to feel her against him. Nerves assuaged by the contact, he let her go and wove their fingers together. "That was both horrifying and amazing."

"Hey, I'm pretty good at what I do," Harper boasted with a playful grin.

"I'm serious, Harper," the former soldier insisted. "That was… wow. A whole other side of you. I mean, you're strong-willed and firm, but you just… you can really hold your ground and you know how to handle people."

"I've known him quite a while," she shrugged. "I have his trust and I get him. It's nothing. Thank you for listening to me and hanging back. I know some people might've seen that as a power thing, but-"

"The only power I saw was yours. And you wielded it beautifully and for the wellbeing of others, as always."

Harper flushed lightly and swatted his bicep. "Shut up and let's go get some fruit. Then cat food."

He nodded and allowed her to pull him down the street, still marveling over how breathtakingly strong she was.

* * *

Harper: Heyyyy

James: Hi?

Harper: I love you!

James: I love you, too. Everything okay?

Harper: Yeah, just wanted to start your day off with an "I love you" text. You don't hear it enough.

James: You give me far more than I deserve.

Harper: You're so painfully caught up in deserving. Accept my love. You absolutely deserve it.

James: Maybe. If nothing else, I am trying to be someone who deserves you.

Harper: Are you going to be home tonight?

James: That's the plan.

Harper: Clean up whatever man shit you have lying around that apartment. I'm coming over for dinner because I love you and need to talk some sense into you. No arguments!

James: Fine, fine. I wouldn't argue your company anyway. But "man shit"?

Harper: Yeah. Dirty gym clothes, old pizza boxes, nudie mags, lotion, cum socks… Man shit.

James: God, doll, you make me blush even without being here. I can assure you, this apartment is already free of "man shit."

Harper: Well, I suppose you probably get your porn online like everyone else.

James: Do you really mean everyone else?

Harper: I do.

James: I think I know what I want to talk about over dinner.

Harper: My topic of conversation first. Yours over dessert.

James: You strike a hard bargain, ma'am.

Harper: Get to work, hun. See you tonight. I love you.

James: I love you too, darlin'.

* * *

A/N: Thanks as always for all of the support! I enjoyed writing this chapter and giving Harper a moment to shine.

Kudos and thanks to all of the helping professionals busting ass out there, especially now when the world has gone to shit. Social workers, caregivers, etc. are still out there in the communnity, in hospitals, nursing homes, etc. despite everything that's going on and are some of the least mentioned essential workers. But they kick butt on the daily, and have my deepest respect. I'm so lucky and grateful that my own job has gone remote, since my assessments are community based, and recognize that this isn't possible for a lot of others in the field. If you're someone reading this who is also a helping professional, I offer you my gratitude and solidarity.


	29. Chapter 29

Content warning: Adult content toward the end.

* * *

_Bucky watched through the Winter Soldier's eyes as Steve dropped his shield through a blown out portion of the Insight ship. The assassin flew at the defenseless blond, and in a blur of movement had the other man pinned beneath him._

_ "You're my mission," he hissed through grit teeth. _

_ His cybernetic arm drew back before connecting with the soldier's jaw. Over and over, the assassin pummeled his face before pausing, the barest tingle of recognition in his brain._

_ "Then finish it," encouraged the Captain. His face was swollen, split, bruised by the Soldier's hands. "'Cause I'm with you to the end of the line."_

_ The assassin's jaw fell, his breathing uneven and painful. _Steve?

_ A beam from above fell, narrowly avoiding the two but taking out the glass bottom of the ship which the two had ended up on. The assassin grabbed ahold of a beam that was still intact, watching the blond he was now positive he knew fall to the waters below, shards of glass, metal, and debris dancing around his unmoving figure. Bucky was screaming, desperately wanting the Soldier to move, _to do something.

_ His wish was granted, and the assassin dropped down, shifting his body into a dive. He grabbed the Captain's forearm, tugging him upward toward the surface. It was a difficult swim to shore between the prone body attached to his shoulders and the expanse of fragments from the ship creating a dangerous egress. Finally, he made it, breathing hard and limbs feeling like jelly. He dragged the Captain onto the sandy bank, gazing down at his bloodied form. Once the other man had drawn a breath, the assassin turned, ready to disappear once again with the assurance that the blond would live._

_ Bucky was helpless, wanting to turn back around and make sure that Steve was alright. How could he have done that to him? How did he not recognize him at all until he had done him so much damage? He had to make sure his closest friend was alright, but his body wasn't his to move._

_ Steve! Steve! Steve!_

"James?!"

Bucky jolted upward, fingers disappearing into his sweat-drenched hair and gripping tight. A shift beside him caught his attention and he froze, his breath halting automatically from years of practice remaining silent when caught off guard.

"James, do you know who you are right now?" came Harper's even voice. He gave a single nod, but made no other reaction. She continued, "Okay. I'm going to move away to give you some space. That's what you want, right?"

Several nods this time. Slowly, he felt her slip from the worn blankets that topped his mattress. He heard her move cautiously to the far end of the sofa, and approved vaguely of her choice. She was positioning herself closer to the door without really leaving him alone.

Gently, she asked, "Do you know where you are right now? Who I am?"

He nodded once for each question, and finally exhaled the breath he was holding. The dark haired man lowered his hands from his hairline, scrubbing at his streaming eyes. His body was shaking, and the sweating hadn't stopped yet. Images of himself, just two years prior, filled his mind's eye. Approaching a black SUV, police and civilians alike injured or dead in the street behind him. The Leader shooting an innocent woman in his kitchen because she had seen the Asset. Heavy boots pounding against tarmac before landing squarely in the chest of a man, throwing him backwards into the spinning blades of a jet where he was instantly shredded. Grenades flying from his fingertips, the smell of charred corpses…

Bucky shot up, bee-lining for the bathroom. He just barely made it to the toilet before the contents of his stomach made a reappearance. Bile began burning his throat, and he let out a sob that he simply couldn't hold back. Gentle fingers worked with a feather light touch, gathering the hair falling in his face and pulling it back out of the way. Nails just barely skimming his skin, the strands plastered to his sweaty forehead were also collected.

"Is it okay that I'm touching you?" Harper asked in a whisper.

"I'm… I'm not gonna hurt you," he muttered around another sob. "I can't, I can't, I can't…"

His body was numb while his brain was a whirlwind of near indecipherable feelings and memories. How many people had he killed on the tarmac alone? Twenty? Thirty? In two minutes, how many families had he destroyed?

Gentle fingers tugged off his t-shirt, but he hardly paid attention. His underwear followed, but he didn't even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the situation. Next thing he knew, a hand was gently coaxing him to step into the shower. He lifted a leg over the side of the old tub and into the warm spray of water. Evidently, the shower had been running for several minutes without his notice. Legs feeling weak, he sank down into a seated position at the front of the tub, letting the water pour down on him.

And that poor woman, killed just for knowing of his cursed existence. Surely she had a family that would never know what had happened to their loved one. His hands clenched, fingertips biting into his palms. But only one truly felt it.

Nimble digits ran through his hair, parting and moving sections until it was all fully wet. The smell of patchouli filled the small space before those same hands began gently working the shampoo into a lather against his scalp. They took care around his hairline to avoid losing any suds, before moving back to gently comb through the long locks.

All those people on the bus in D.C., the people on that highway, the people in the streets. Just trying to go about their day, when he had to come along and destroyed everything. How many people got calls from the police, from the hospital, to tell them that there had been an accident? That someone they loved was injured or dead? That he had taken them away?

The sobs had stopped, he noted. Though it felt rather a lot like tears were still streaming from his eyes and mucus from his nose. He also noticed the steady hands lathering soap on his back. Firm thumbs were pressing into the hard ridges of muscles in his shoulder blades. Had Harper followed him into the shower?

"What're you doing?" he choked, throat raw.

"Is it not okay?"

"I… it's okay, but…"

"Then let it be okay."

That shut him up, picking up on the double meaning immediately. A cloth had found his skin now, making ginger passes up and down his back, his flesh arm. The brunette reached around him to scrub soap across his chest, his abdomen. She fumbled slightly around his hips before pressing herself into his back so that she could reach his legs, pulled up toward his chest as they were. He relished in the feeling of her flesh against his, loving the heat from her smooth skin, the softness of her body against the hardness of his genetically altered one. The former assassin – former soldier? – let his head fall backward to rest in the curve of her neck and shoulder. She pushed aside the wet curtain of her dark hair, allowing him full contact with her skin. He peppered kisses there, a stream of nonsensical apologies and self-hatred tumbling uncontrollably from his lips.

The cloth fell by his foot and her arms came around him, holding him in an embrace that was not tight, but was reassuringly, comfortably firm. His words dissolved into another round of sobs into her neck. She turned and pressed a kiss to his temple before tucking him against her again. Slowly, the tears died completely and he sat there, simply shaking in her hold. It took him a long time to realize that he was shaking because the water had turned cold.

"Fuck, Harper," he groaned, leaning forward to shut the water. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't apologize," she replied evenly. "Just stand."

He did as he was told, and allowed her to begin patting him dry with a towel. She wrapped the item around his waist, her cheeks flushing as she did so. Blue eyes watched as she wrung out her hair and grabbed a second towel, wrapping it around herself quickly. The brunette stepped out of the shower and he followed, standing stupidly on the spot when she didn't move any further.

Harper took his hand gently in hers, pulling him out of the bathroom to stand near his bed. She rummaged in his small bin of clothes for a moment before standing again. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and panic all over again, but with a totally different root cause.

He gathered the woman up in his arms and she dropped the clothes in her surprise. Her towel, too, hit the floor. All for the better. The thought of not being able to feel her – all of her – had been the trigger to this new round of panic, after all.

"No clothes," he mumbled brokenly. "Just you."

"Okay," she agreed. He could hear in her voice that she didn't understand, but had easily accepted the request anyway.

They sank as a unit to the rumpled mattress, not caring about their wet hair on his pillows. Bucky allowed himself to wrap around her, which wasn't difficult given his much larger frame. He needed to feel her, to know that she was real, that she was his. He knew he didn't deserve her – that he'd _never_ deserve her – but she was here, she was his, and she was so _good_. Good for him, good for everyone whose life she touched. She was precious, she was his.

"James?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he replied immediately. He knew it wasn't fair to this beautiful woman who had just held him, bathed him – shit, _washed vomit from his hair_ _for him_. But he also knew that she would respect his boundaries. "I just want you. I love you."

"I love you, too," she responded without hesitation. "You're a good man with a difficult past, and I love you."

He held her tighter, burying his face into the top of her head. They spoke no more that night, but it was all he needed and more.

* * *

Harper: You bought me macarons.

James: That sounded awful accusatory, doll.

Harper: Confirmed then. No creepy stalker, just a boyfriend who feels unduly indebted to me from the other night.

James: I don't feel indebted. I feel grateful.

There was a notable pause before her next text.

Harper: Fuck, I'm a bitch.

James: You're no such thing. Take them. I just wanted you to know that I'm beyond thankful to have you in my life.

Harper: People are staring at me because I'm red and teary at my desk, staring at my phone. You're coming over tonight to eat some of these, okay?

James: Whatever you want, darlin.

* * *

The barest hint of summer was in the air. He was getting good at yoga. There was plenty of work at the docks. His nightmares had been minimal lately. Harper was as perfect for him as ever. He had finished the _Chronicles_ series and had begun _The Da Vinci Code_. Was this what a second chance looked like?

* * *

Half a box of condoms had been used before Harper began to enjoy the during rather than just the before and after. Thus, Bucky was beyond relieved when her nails bit into his bicep and the breath hissed between her teeth. As much as he loved – really _loved_ – sex with her, he wasn't sure how many more times he could do it, knowing he was leaving her sore and stressed out about not having enjoyed the deed more.

"That good, doll?" he asked, rocking his hips forward again.

She hummed lightly and shifted, moving her free hand and letting it move down to tease her bundle of nerves.

"Fuck, darlin'," he hissed, bright blue eyes squeezing closed. "Lemme do that."

He gently swatted her hand out of the way, replacing her fingers with his on her clit. She hummed again, arching into his chest slightly. His hips and fingers gradually but surely sped up until he heard the telltale curse falling shakily from her lips. "Think you can cum on my cock, doll?"

Her eyes fell closed, her cheeks flushing at his words even in the heat of the moment they were sharing. He urged, "C'mon, I want you dripping on me before I finish. I can't fill you up, so I at least want you to soak me."

"Holy shit, James," she breathed, face aflame.

"Fuck, Harper," he moaned, getting closer just thinking about finally feeling her orgasm. "Let go, doll, so I can cum and then lick you clean."

And then it happened. He felt the rhythmic clenching on his length signaling her orgasm. His forehead dropped to her collarbone and he thrust home one more time before his own release washed over him. His mind went blissfully blank, his whole body buzzing with pleasure. As he began to come down from his high, he was vaguely aware that her orgasm was a small, not-so-earth-shattering one, but she got off during nonetheless.

The former soldier peppered kisses along Harper's collarbone and the side of her neck, his breaths shallow and raspy as he began trying to recover. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, pushing the damp strands back from his face.

"You okay, doll?" he muttered against her skin.

She hummed in the affirmative, continuing the gentle stroking of his hair. Feeling more grounded, he pushed himself up onto his forearms, placed a kiss on her lips, and withdrew from her heat. Quickly disposing of the condom, he began sliding down the mattress. Harper picked her head up, looking at him with wide eyes. "Wait, James, what're you-?"

"I promised to clean you up," he clarified, grinning at her salaciously.

"You don't-"

Bucky lifted a brow. "Are you satisfied with one little orgasm?"

"It's not that, I just… Are you put off?"

"By…?" He watched her eyes flick down between his hips, then off to the side to avoid his gaze. "By the fact that my dick was just inside you? That you're really wet?"

"Both," she muttered begrudgingly, cheeks flushing again.

"No, not at all. Now, hurry up and let me in. I want to drink my fill before the fountain runs dry."

Her hands shot up to cover her face, but she also allowed her legs to fall apart. Bucky ran kisses over the inside of her left thigh, running his tongue over a thin stretch mark there. He savored the taste of her arousal which had spread to her inner thighs, a small preview of what he was about to extract from her core. Unable to wait any longer, he buried himself in her folds. He lost himself in the task, in her flavor washing over his tongue, in the tiny movements in her body that would guide him to do better. Struck by inspiration, he pulled back.

"Darlin', look at me," he instructed. Harper opened her bright brown eyes, turning to look at him with a blush rapidly spreading across her face. "Don't look away, okay?"

"Why?" she practically squeaked, eyes already flickering between his gaze and somewhere else in the room.

"I want to see those pretty eyes," Bucky answered flirtatiously. Then, with a smirk, he added, "And I want you to watch me eat you."

"You're… kinky," Harper replied before pulling a pillow in front of her face.

Bucky responded by flattening his tongue against her slit and swiping it upward in a broad stroke. Then, he coaxed, "Darlin', I think you're gonna enjoy it."

He returned to her core, leisurely running his tongue across her skin again. Slowly, she peeked down from over the pillow, which he rewarded with a strong suckle to her clit. The brunette tucked the pillow beneath her head, eyes gazing uncertainly down to him, nestled between her legs. He stared up at her, drawing the tip of his tongue around her bundle of nerves teasingly. Still holding her gaze, he stiffened his tongue and began slowly spearing her weeping center, eyes locked with hers all the while. Her lips just barely parted, her teeth clamping on the lower one.

He returned to his task with vigor. The former soldier couldn't help himself and let out a pleased growl, his eyes flicking up to her face in time to see heat bloom brighter on her cheeks. She met his eyes, to her credit, and he grinned wickedly. Bucky fluttered his tongue against her sensitive bud, drawing a tiny moan from the brunette. He froze at the noise, unaccustomed to hearing her pleasure vocalized in anything other than a hissed curse or a shaky exhale. Blue eyes moved upward again.

"Eyes," he reminded before repeating the motion against her clit, alternating with wrapping his lips around it.

Her bright brown eyes flew open, and she hissed, "You kinky fuck."

He chuckled but didn't let up. Her thighs began to tremble, and he grasped her hips, pulling her harder against his mouth. Putting aside the fatigue in his jaw, he redoubled his efforts, determined to draw another moan from her. He succeeded, her thighs tightening around him automatically and another small moan tumbling from her lips as an orgasm hit. The brunet followed her through it, slowing down as her legs slid back to the mattress. He finished with one more broad upward stroke and a flick of the tip of his tongue on her clit, making her hips jump.

"Holy fuck, James," she breathed, chest heaving with the effort of coming down off her own high.

He joined her at the head of the bed, licking his lips before placing a kiss at her temple. "Happy birthday, Harper."

"Will I have to wait until the next birthday for a repeat performance?" she asked with a breathy chuckle.

"You need only wait a half hour and I'll be good to go again," he smirked.

"Insatiable," she snorted a laugh, shoving lightly at his chest.

"Maybe a little," Bucky allowed. More seriously, he asked, "Are you alright, though?"

Harper understood immediately that he wasn't talking about the oral she had just received. "Yeah, that was a lot better for me this time."

"Are you in any pain?"

"James, I'm fine," she assured, though he didn't miss that she had avoided his question. Looking somewhat worried herself, she admitted, "I'm just growing more and more concerned that you're going to get bored with me."

"How could I get bored with you?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"I feel like I'm being a pillow princess," Harper sighed.

"A what?"

"Like… always receiving, never giving? And you seem more… adventurous than just doing missionary. I feel like you're gonna get bored."

"First off, I really don't think I could ever tire of you. You taste fucking amazing and you're insanely wet and tight. Couldn't ask for much more there. And, doll, we've barely hit the tip of the iceberg. We've just started having sex. Until I get a feel for your limits and until it feels like your body can handle more, I'm not interested in going there. It's far from fun for me to cause you pain."

"I know," she muttered dejectedly. "It's your fault for being so… sizeable."

He chuckled and bumped a kiss to her temple again. The former soldier adjusted his arms around her, tightening his hold. "I love you the way you are. The way things are between us. I never knew I needed someone like you in my life, but here you are. Perfect for me."

Harper tucked her face into his shoulder, the one crawling with scars. "I love you, too, James. Since we met, things have seemed a bit brighter."

His heart swelled with a twinge in his chest, forcing a smile to his lips. Things couldn't get much better.

* * *

A/N: Thank you all for the continued support. And many thanks to the folks regularly giving feedback. Y'all the best.


	30. Chapter 30

Harper: Hello, my love!

James: Hey, darlin. What's got you so cheery?

Harper: I got some really good news today. Dinner to discuss?

James: Absolutely. I'm heading to the market for some plums. Do you need anything?

Harper: You're a peach, so I'm good. ;)

James: Alright, I'll see you in a little bit. I'm excited to hear this good news.

Harper: I'm excited to tell you! I love you!

James: I love you, too, doll.

* * *

Bucky found himself happily beneath the tent of his favorite fruit stand. He gave a small smile to the mother and her two daughters beside him before turning his eyes to the crate of plums that had been the goal of this afternoon trip to the market.

Looking up and catching the eye of the woman who ran the stand, he asked, "How much?"

She supplied her answer, always a good price, and he repeated it, turning the figure over in his head and deciding how many of the supposedly memory-enhancing fruits he wanted. He gave his answer, and handed her the correct sum of money while she began bagging up the fruits. With his purchase in hand, he began toying with the idea of stopping by the florist to meet whatever Harper's good news was with an admittedly cliché bouquet of summery blooms.

As he waited to cross the busy street, the distinct feeling of being watched came over him. Trusting his years of experience, blue eyes began to roam. Quickly, he noted the man running the newsstand across the road staring at him. _Really_ staring. The former assassin looked away, trying to shake the disturbing feeling raising the hairs on the back of his neck, but he couldn't ignore his instincts. Shifting his gaze back to the newsstand, he locked eyes with the man and knew something was wrong. Taking the opportunity to cross the street, he strode toward the stand, adrenaline rising when the man took flight. He grabbed up the newspaper the man had been reading, and his entire body froze. It felt like his lungs and heart had simply ceased working. The front page was a photo and headline depicting him – the Winter Soldier – as a bomber who had attacked the Sokovia Accords in Vienna.

With the newsstand vendor undoubtedly alerting the police as he stood there, Bucky quickly came to the terrible conclusion that he had to run.

* * *

"Hey! You never call," Harper greeted cheerfully.

"Are you home?"

"Yeah, just got here. Is everything okay?" she replied, catching on immediately to the grave seriousness in his tone.

"I'll be there in three. Have you seen the news?"

"No, should I have?"

"You can if you want, but please – god, _please_, Harper – let me explain."

"James, you're scaring me," the young woman answered, and he could hear the worried waver in her voice.

"Two minutes."

He hung up and continued his hurried slinking through back allies. Thankfully unseen, he emerged by Harper's apartment. He didn't want any record of him at the front door, so he carefully removed the glass pane from a window in the back of the building. He hauled himself inside silently before rushing up to the third floor. Perhaps sooner than he was mentally prepared to, he arrived at Harper's apartment. Testing the doorknob, he found it unlocked and moved swiftly inside.

Harper was sitting on the couch, the news story abouot the Winter Soldier and a blurry photo of his face were on the TV, but she wasn't looking at it. She appeared remarkably calm, simply sitting and waiting for him. He rushed to her side, kneeling before her awash in guilt and fear.

"Harper, I don't have much time," he began.

"I figured," she answered with a nod.

"I didn't do it."

"Obviously, unless you could teleport from my apartment last night to Vienna, do all that, and then teleport back here. Don't waste time if this is all I have left with you."

He saw the tears beginning to fill her eyes, as well as her determination to not let them fall. He felt a sob rising in his own chest, but shoved it down. "I'm so sorry I didn't tell you about who I am. I thought…"

"James," Harper said gently, raising a hand to cup his cheek. "You told me already what you think of yourself. Undeserving. A monster. And I've seen it. Ashamed. Afraid. Repentant. All this does is flesh out the bigger picture. It doesn't change the fact that I know you. That I love you."

"I didn't want this to happen to us. To you. I'm so, _so_ sorry, doll," Bucky continued, choking on his words as the tears came, unbidden. "I'm so grateful for the time you gave me. You saved me, and I'll never be able to show you how thankful I am or how much I love you."

Her other palm moved to match its twin and she muttered, "I understand. You did the same for me."

"I planned for this, even though I hoped I wouldn't ever have to go through with it," he continued, clearing his throat and shoving back his emotions once again. Harper wiped the moisture from his cheeks as he dug around in his pocket. Pulling out an envelope and a prepaid phone, he handed them to her. "I explained everything in the letter. The phone is untraceable. If it's safe, I will call it to let you know I made it out. I've been careful to keep a low profile around you, and I don't think anyone will link you to me. If for any reason they do and the police show up, tell them the truth. You had no idea who I was. I lied to you, deceived you all this time. Okay?"

"Yes. Though I disagree with your word choice."

"Harper," he scolded sharply.

"I get it, James."

"I have to go. I've already been here too long. I have to grab my go bag and get out of here." He

paused before grimacing. "I can't tell you where I'm headed."

"I know. That's why I didn't ask." They rose as a unit to their feet. Harper looked up at him and grabbed both of his hands. "James, please be careful."

He nodded his agreement and she stood on her toes, slamming her lips against his. The kiss was fierce, desperate, and wet with the tears the brunette could no longer hold back. Bucky poured his heart into the kiss, each touch of their tongues, each brush of their lips speaking of his longing for the life they could have lived together. It had been so close – so _goddamn close_ – and it had all been taken away. Snuffed out like all of the lives the Winter Soldier had taken. Maybe this was his penance.

Using all of his self-control and thinking of her safety, Bucky forced himself to pull away. Harper's grip on his shoulders was tight, but he gently loosened her hands from him. Bright brown eyes gazing up into blue, she declared, "'_In your world I have another name… You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there_.' You're a good man, James Barnes, and I am irrevocably in love with you."

"I love you, Harper. I am so sorry."

He placed a final kiss to her forehead before he turned, forcing himself to leave the apartment. He needed to get moving to protect her and to protect himself.

* * *

Being restrained in a cage gave Bucky plenty of time to reflect, though he kept his facial expression carefully guarded. He supposed he may have gotten away if he hadn't stopped to say goodbye to Harper. His only regret was that she would feel unspeakably guilty, since she would doubtless draw the same conclusion. But for him, even knowing the result, he would do it again. He couldn't even begin to imagine doing her the disservice of not hearing the truth from him, of not having the bit of closure they were able to get in their brief goodbye.

"I'm not here to judge you," said the bespectacled man before him. "I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?"

God, it fucking turned his stomach to hear someone other than Harper calling him by his first name. James was hers, and only hers.

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," he corrected firmly.

* * *

The words, the fucking words. What had he done this time? Who had he hurt? How much more blood was he drowning in?

"Which Bucky am I talking to?"

The brunet heaved a sigh. "Your mom's name was Sarah. You used to where newspapers in your shoes."

He chuckled, relieved for the fond memory that was still intact.

* * *

Bucky couldn't help but grin at his longtime friend wrapped in the embrace of a beautiful blonde woman. Steve was long overdue for happiness, for women to see how absolutely good he was. Lips separating, the two shared a private joke before glancing at their small audience in their tiny getaway car. Bucky nodded his approval, hoping Steve would understand just how happy he was for his friend.

* * *

An arduous fight behind them, Bucky sat silently behind Steve in their stolen jet en route to Siberia. Staring at his hands, the former assassin questioned, "What's going to happen to your friends?"

Steve's answer didn't assuage his guilt. "Whatever it is… I'll deal with it."

More lives destroyed because of him. "I don't know if I'm worth all this, Steve."

"What you did all those years…" the blond replied slowly, looking back at him, "… It wasn't you. You didn't have a choice."

Bucky nodded. "I know." Just like so many conversations he'd had with Harper. With a sardonic smile, he added, "But I did it."

A heavy silence filled the space between the two men, once closer than brothers. Were they still brothers?

Finally, Steve asked, "Were you in Bucharest this whole time?"

"I stayed in D.C. long enough to get into the Smithsonian. I went through your exhibit. Then I passed through Europe, only spending a little time here and there until I got to Bucharest. I didn't plan on staying as long as I did."

"What changed?"

Bucky's lips turned upward in the most genuine smile Steve had seen on him since the 40s. "I met a woman more amazing than I could've ever dreamed up, Stevie."

The blond made a complete turnaround at that, failing to conceal his surprise. "What?"

"A woman," he confirmed. "That's why I stayed."

"I… you… you stayed for a woman? You could never handle more than a handful of dates with the same dame."

"Harper isn't any ordinary dame," Bucky responded, smile growing in spite of himself. "She's damn strong and stubborn, and so friggin' smart, Steve. Her whole life revolves around helping other people, even though it's cost her a lot. She's so good to me, so good _for_ me. She's kept my world bright."

Steve mulled this confession over before letting out a small, breathy laugh. "She pretty?"

"Beautiful."

With a frown of realization, the blond asked, "Does she know who you are?"

The former assassin heaved another sigh. "She does now."

"I'm sorry, Buck."

"She said she still loves me," he muttered, nearly a whisper. He knew Steve had heard him and was unashamed to add, "I love her, too."

* * *

"C'mon, Buck, we gotta get you some help," Steve groaned, helping Bucky mount the ramp to their jet.

"I think I can help you with that," a voice called from behind them. The men out of time turned to see the new Wakandan King, T'Challa, mask in hand. "We have the means to heal and conceal you both. I owe you much for the blindness of my rage."

"Thank you," Steve nodded. "We could use that."

"More than that, our top scientist should be able to remove the Winter Soldier programming. It will take time," the Black Panther cautioned.

"Steve," Bucky spoke up, already feeling his friend's excitement and gratitude. "I need to do something first."

* * *

Bucky caught Harper's gasp in his palm, nudging her door shut behind her with his foot. He shushed her gently, and she nodded, eyes wide and staring at him in disbelief. Slowly, he lowered his hand from her mouth.

"James, you stupid shit! Why the fuck would you have come here and wasted time you knew you didn't have?! I'm not worth getting caught! And why are you here now? How?!"

"Hey, hey, hey, doll," he replied quickly, raising his hand in defense. "I couldn't just leave you. And it's okay. I'm passing through and then going with some friends. They think they can take the Winter Soldier outta my head."

Her cinnamon brown eyes were roaming his figure carefully while he explained. He knew she had caught onto the empty sleeve of his jacket. Gingerly, she reached up and touched his shoulder, running her fingers downward to feel what was left of his metal limb. The gentle digits moved to his face, skimming the cuts and bruises there.

"I told you to stay safe," she scolded weakly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he assured. "This will all be healed by morning."

"I'm glad. I was really scared for you, James," she confessed, eyes shimmering with tears. The brunette buried her face in his chest, and he wrapped his remaining flesh arm around her firmly.

"Are you okay? Did anyone come to you about anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "I'm completely fine. But I missed you."

"I missed you, too, doll." With a hard swallow, he continued, "But I have to go away for a while."

"How long?" she muttered into his chest.

"As long as it takes to make me safe around people, around you. This entire thing… I'm dangerous with the Winter Soldier's code living in my head."

"Code?"

"Didn't you read the letter?"

"I've spent most of the last few days drunk," she muttered into his chest.

"Harper," he muttered, placing a kiss to the top of her head. "The clusters…"

"Oh, cut that shit. I handled myself exceptionally well the last time we spoke, all things considered. I think I was allowed to fall apart a bit after all of that."

Steve chuckled and Bucky felt Harper jump, clearly having been entirely unaware that they weren't alone. The brunette pulled away slightly, peering around him to see the star spangled man seated on her couch. Steve stood with a grin and declared, "You weren't kidding, Buck."

The former soldier grinned at his best friend and adjusted his arm to tuck Harper into his side. "Harper, this is Steve. Steve, meet Harper."

"You were talking about me?" Harper asked, peering up at him with a raised brow and a flush to her cheeks.

"He is my best friend, darlin'," Bucky grinned.

She waved him off with a chuckle and extended her hand toward Steve. "It's great to finally meet you. I've heard good things. I mean, historically speaking, but also from James."

"Oh, really?" asked the blond with a smirk. "Like what, _James_?"

"If I had another arm, I'd clock ya one, Rogers," Bucky threatened without any seriousness.

Harper tilted her head up at him and asked, "Should I not call you that anymore?"

"I've always hated my name when anyone else has used it," he admitted. With another grin, he continued, "But I do love it coming from you."

"Buck, I hate to do this, but we gotta get moving."

"I know," sighed the brunet. "Give us a minute?"

Steve nodded and gave Harper a small smile before exiting to the roof through the window that had been their ingress.

"Did he just…?" Harper shook her head, shaking the question off. Looking at him with seriousness in her eyes, she said, "You got to do most of the talking last time. I need to say my piece."

Bucky nodded. "You have the floor."

"Despite my… straying from sobriety these last few days, I've done a lot of thinking. I understand why you kept your identity a secret. I don't hold that against you at all. I knew from our first coffee date that you were lost and in pain, and I can see now that you were suffering more than I could've imagined. To have asked you to trust me with any of that back then would have been inane. But I assume since you came back that you want to move forward. If so, I need a guarantee that you will be honest with me. No matter what."

"I want a future with you more than anything. I've thought so many times about what that would look like, and all of those visions are beautiful. But I don't want to make you wait for me, Harper," Bucky muttered, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I have no idea how long this is going to take, and you deserve-"

"Please, _please_, stop with 'deserving,'" Harper pleaded. "I don't give a fuck about that. For once in my damn life, when I decided to tell you about my feelings and then when we agreed to be together, I was doing what I wanted. Not what I needed to do, not what I necessarily should have done, but what I wanted. And I've been so happy. So I don't care if you feel like I deserve someone else, or if we deserve each other, or whatever. I care about what we want, and I want a future together. I want to swap books, I want to fall asleep watching Netflix, I want to buy plums at the market, to walk by the river. I want to talk you down from your nightmares, and I want to cry to you during my clusters. I want to go to sleep every night after you've made sure Aslan and I have enough space in bed, and then I want to wake up every morning and see that you're smiling, because for some reason you love me as much as I love you. You make me happy, James. I can't say that about any other man or about most people who have been part of my life. So I am prepared to wait. For me, there's nobody else. It's not a remote possibility that what we have could be replicated with someone else. You or no one."

Silence passed between them for a long moment. Finally, the corner of Bucky's mouth twitched upward. "Well… how can I argue with that?"

* * *

A/N: There we have the final chapter of Deserving. Epilogue to come shortly. If this seems suddenly or jarring or rushed, it's because the end of Bucky's life in Bucharest and the events of Civil War felt that way, so it's reflected here in how he perceived that whirlwind of events. Thank you so much to everyone who stuck this out. I appreciate all of the reviews, follows, favorites, and views, and am especially thankful to folks who provided consistent feedback. It's been a pleasure to hear from you all and to chat a bit in PMs. See you again in the epilogue!


	31. Epilogue

Bucky watched with an odd sense of calm as the doctors continued to prep him for cryo. Steve hovered nearby and Bucky knew from his expression that the other man had some reservations – maybe some regrets – about what was happening. The former assassin couldn't blame him; he could imagine how he'd feel in Steve's position, discovering that his long-lost best friend was not, in fact, dead, but was still so far out of reach.

"Steve," he spoke up, attracting the blond's attention. Their eyes met and the brunet sighed. "I'm sorry."

Slowly, Steve nodded, understanding the scope of the apology. "So am I."

Bucky shook his head, tossing off the apology. Steve wasn't the harbinger of sadness and destruction. Guiltily, he said, "I need you to do something for me."

"What is it, Buck?"

"I know you're going to have to go underground, but… as much as you can, I need you to watch out for Harper. If anyone traces me back to her…"

Steve nodded firmly. "I will."

"Thank you," he replied with a small smile.

The Captain looked downward before looking up again with a matching smile. "She's really been good for you, huh?"

"I couldn't even begin to describe how good. I came out of being the Soldier not knowing who the hell I was, not trusting anyone, sure I'd have to live out the rest of my life running. But with her… I felt like a better version of who I was before the War."

"I'll look forward to getting to know her better someday," Steve replied, smile growing.

Bucky chuckled. "She feels the same way about you."

The doctor finished prep and stepped away, beginning to make adjustments to the cryo pod. Steve glanced at the pod and asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"I can't trust my own mind." He breathed a mirthless chuckle. "So until they figure out how to get this stuff outta my head, I think going back under is the best thing." Bucky didn't miss the downcast look on Steve's face as he looked downward again, unable to hold eye contact. The former soldier pressed gently, "For everybody."

Mere minutes later, the brunet was settling into the pod. The glass slid into place around him and he shifted slightly, eyes closing with his acceptance of the situation. He knew it was for the best. He couldn't risk killing anymore innocent people or hurting those that mattered to him. There was a brief blast of cold air before his mind went blissfully quiet.

* * *

_Harper,_

_There is no way this letter is going to be sufficient. Even if I'm able to see you in person before you read this, I doubt you'll get what is owed to you. An apology befitting the wrongs I've done to you, honesty, closure… everything I will try to give you here, knowing it's not enough._

_I don't have the words to tell you how truly sorry I am. I may have planned for this, but I had hoped to never have to go through with any of it. Hopefully whatever reason I've had to run won't bar me from coming back to you. If you'll still have me._

_I'm sorry for leaving you so suddenly, for the pain that my leaving has caused. But mostly I'm sorry for all of the deception. When we met, I never knew what you would become to me. It didn't seem like my dishonesty about who I am would ever matter. I should have come clean sooner out of respect for you and our relationship. I want to finally be honest._

_ My real name is James Buchanan Barnes. George really was my father's name, and Rogers is Steve's last name. I was born March 10, 1917. Everything I told you about my mother, my siblings, who I was growing up before the War was all true, if not a little vague to hide the fact that my story began so long ago. When I enlisted in the army, it was to fight in World War II. I rose up the ranks to Sergeant in part because it turns out I was a pretty talented sniper. While trying to push back enemy lines, my regiment was captured by the Nazi Science Division, HYDRA. Their lead scientist experimented on me there, but Steve – Captain America – freed us. We made it back to our camp, and formed a small, specialized unit to combat HYDRA. We were called the Howling Commandos._

_ What I told you about going on a mission with Steve where I got knocked out the side of a moving train was true. It was a mission that changed my life in a more substantial way than I alluded to. I fell down a ravine, and my left arm was shorn from my body. I woke up briefly, surrounded by people who were dragging me through the snow and practically bleeding out through my shoulder. The next time I woke up, the godawful scientist from my earlier capture was there again, and the doctors were operating on what was left of my arm, preparing it for the cybernetic prosthetic. _

_ Once I was healed, my life only consisted of this machine… I don't know how it worked. All I know is it set my brain on fire and erased all my memories. It remade me and I became the Winter Soldier. I spent most of the next near 70 years in cryostasis. I was let out only to train and for missions. Every time a memory or an iota of free will returned to me, it was back to the machine. I think that's half of why I'm so fucked up._

_ The other explanation is the sheer amount of life I've taken. I know some of my history is public knowledge and that I've been credited with two dozen political assassinations, but that's honestly just a scratch on the surface. I've done so much more damage than that. I have been on the run since everything that happened in D.C. because not only does every large government in the world have reason to want me dead, but what's left of HYDRA definitely wants their weapon back. _

_ I'm writing all of this not for your pity or sympathy, but because I want you to have the truth. I owe you much more, though I fear that if you are reading this letter, perhaps this is all I will ever be able to give you. _

_ I may have been outstandingly deceptive about who I was, but I was always honest about who I've been since meeting you. You pulled me out of the hell I was in, trying to unscramble my mind and wondering who I was if not a soldier or an assassin. Everything I have ever told you about how I feel for you, how you've been such a positive force in my life, everything that was not about who I've been, has all been true. I hope you can believe that despite all of the lies. If nothing else, please know that I truly have fallen in love with you. I never knew I could love someone as I do you, and I'm more grateful than I can describe that you taught me that._

_ Please stay safe. I know you can handle yourself, but I worry regardless. If this is our final goodbye, I want nothing but happiness for you, whatever that takes. There are very few people in this world as deserving of happiness as you, Harper._

_ With all my love,_

_ James_

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking with Bucky and Harper. I have appreciated all of the support along the way.

Fun fact: the entire reason I started this story is because about a year and a half ago I was watching Civil War and got to the scene where Zemo keeps addressing Bucky by his real name and I thought, "What if Bucky was annoyed by this not because he wants to take back and finally control his identity, but because he'll only accept a certain person using that name?" And here we are.

I'm a little torn on where (if anywhere) to go next. I have started writing a sequel, but it's in really early stages. It would be a bit before anything goes up. But I'm also wondering if this is an ending that fits. I'm not sure. I'd be grateful for any thoughts on where to go from here, the story in general, etc. now that we've come to an end.

Thank you again for everything,

Silver


End file.
